


someone new (me or you?)

by xtacosyum



Series: nowhere to go, no one to be [2]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-11-06 10:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtacosyum/pseuds/xtacosyum
Summary: It’s a hard road finding herself, but maybe at the end of it she’ll have something she can hold on to.—Wraith escapes from the IMC facility. Now she must deal with the aftermath.





	1. meetings

**Author's Note:**

> whew what hey i still love girls apex is good idk how to write these chars shoutout to PretzelRods for your comment you my real homie and made me want to actually write more also shoutout to the apex discord i joined thats full of wonderful people also gay for wraith and who make me want to produce Content.. idk if this should be chapter or series works i’ll make it chapter for now also i reread this like once and idk how present tense work but it’s too late to change now anyway yeet

“ _ Watch the best highlights from our fighter’s most recent match in King’s Canyon!” _

 

The sound of the broadcast playing is the only thing worth paying attention to in the dingy bar Wraith is in. She squints at the small television above the counter. It’s hard to see from her position in the far corner, but she isn’t trading the security that she feels there for a better view.

 

“ _ Fan favorite hunter, Bloodhound, was on the scene! _ ” the announcer continues. _ “They’re elusive, a cunning tracker, and looking to pick up their fourth win as Champion. Will they be able to seize victory, or will the weight of their team be too much for even this magnificent hunter? See the rest of the highlights to find out!” _

 

Wraith watches, intrigued. The highlight starts with the beginning of the match. Squads dive out at various intervals with colorful trails behind them, heading for different locations. The camera zooms in on one, where a masked figure plummets down, with what looks to be a raven flying after them. She figures they are the mentioned Bloodhound. Right at their heels are two other soldiers: a nervous, young looking boy, and a man with a confident smirk on his face. 

 

This isn’t the first time Wraith has heard about the Apex Games, but the past week there has been chatter about them everywhere she looked. The new season is starting, and with Bloodhound coming in to fight, everyone’s eager for a show. They are apparently showing replays of the last match to build excitement. This is the first time she is able to actually watch parts of the match. It seems interesting enough that she allows herself the distraction.

 

It’s been two months she had escaped the facility. Wraith has learned a little bit about the IMC; the Interstellar Manufacturing Company seemed intent on bleeding the galaxy for resources. However, she is no closer to figuring out why they had built the facility she was in, why she was there, or even who she was. Most of her energy is spent trying to keep a low profile, as she has no idea whether she is a target worth chasing. There hasn’t been signs of pursuit so far, but she wants to stay alert. The first thing she did was cover up the uniform she was wearing. It didn’t have any insignia that she could tell, but Wraith changed her outfit anyway, stealing a jacket and pants off of a clothesline. She still feels a bit guilty about it, but even though she’s earned money from doing odd jobs and asking no questions, the household was miles behind her. She doubts she could even find it again.

 

Most of the places she stays at are similar to this one, small and out of the way. This is probably the nicest she had been to so far, though. Nobody bothers her, content with listening to the chatty bartender behind the counter. Glancing up at the television behind him, Wraith realizes the game has progressed, and draws her attention back to the screen. 

 

The camera shifts often; it briefly shows teams that are looting to show progress, before focusing on ones that have broken out into fights. Bloodhound had played smart, in her opinion; they and their squad had landed closer to the edge of the map, and after getting supplies, were waiting to catch a team in an ambush. The view switches to squads who are actively fighting.

 

The bolder fighters all decided to jump out of the ship for access to better gear, heading to an area described as the “Hot Zone” by the broadcast. When confronted with other fighters, the teams immediately reacted with their fight-or-flight instincts; some ran to find guns, while others simply beat each other with their fists. The camera flies quickly between different groups of squads; one woman slams her fist into someone’s nose, and they fall to the ground. They don’t get up again. Even as she watches, however, another contestant climbs onto the woman’s back, choking her until they both fall backwards in a pile of limbs. Blood splatters the pavement, and the bodies of the fallen are left sprawled where they died. 

 

The camera view shifts. A group of five contestants are all desperately brawling, fists and feet flying, while a sixth crawls away towards a door. Suddenly, the door bursts open, and someone with a rifle runs outside. They open fire on the crowd, bullets firing in a spray, and the whole squad of five drops to the ground. The fighter helps the person on the ground to their feet, and then they both run away. Wraith can only describe what just happened as a bloodbath. It makes her a bit sick to watch. 

 

“ _ New Kill Leader! _ ” the narrator announces. “ _ Taking out two whole squads with the Devotion will easily earn you that rank. Maybe we have a new rising champion; will Bloodhound finally meet their match? _ ”

 

The camera follows the new pair, one wounded, as they run out into open fields. They find some supply bins, and upon finding medical supplies, begin patching themselves and each other up. Wraith is tense watching them. Something doesn’t feel right.

 

A second later, a loud  _ crack! _ rings out through the field, and a bullet strikes one of the fighters between their eyes. Before the other one can react, another  _ crack! _ splits the air, and then they’re both dead on the floor.

 

“ _ Well, looks like we spoke too soon! _ ” the announcer calls cheerfully. “ _ There’s no one as good at sniffing out wounded prey as Bloodhound, and look who we just spotted over by the cliffs! Put any weapon in their hands and it’s deadly, but with the Kraber and two hundred meters, Bloodhound is unstoppable! _ ”

 

The view cuts to a close up of Bloodhound and their squad. Their sniper rifle is still smoking slightly. Both their teammates are still alive, the boy looking nervous, the older man annoyed.

 

“ _ With those two down, Bloodhound has eliminated the previous Kill Leader, and taken the title for themselves! _ ” the announcer continues. “ _ This is the first hunt of the game for Bloodhound. If two is enough to take Kill Leader, then it looks like this game is looking to be an easy win for our hunter! _ ”

 

Bloodhound slides down the hill, not bothering to loot the bodies of the enemies they just fell. Their goal seems to be a bunker set in the mountains. Their nervous squadmate follows quickly, intent on not being left behind; the older one scoffs, shaking his head, but follows shortly. 

 

“ _ The Bunker is a popular space for loot! _ ” the announcer says cheerfully.  _ “There may be some gear left behind, and if there is, Bloodhound will surely be able to hunt it down! It’s certainly more likely to hold riches than some of the other old, abandoned research facilities hiding in the Canyon. _ ”

 

Wraith’s head shoots up. Did she hear that right? Abandoned research facilities? She feels a flicker of hope stir in her chest. King’s Canyon is located on the Frontier, an area the IMC and the resisting Militia fought over for decades. The facility she escaped from was a ways away, but it wasn’t entirely unreasonable for labs to be here instead.

 

Maybe she can find answers. It isn’t like she has anything else to go off of.

 

Her mind races as Wraith tries to figure out a plan. She needs to learn more about the Apex Games. Being held in King’s Canyon, she could maybe gain access to the forgotten facilities. But how?

 

On the screen, Bloodhound snipes an entire squad. The broadcast switches rapidly between more of the hunter’s kills, now only showing highlights of Bloodhunter's performance. Wraith inhales sharply.

 

If she wants access to those facilities, she will have to win in the Apex Games. To do that, she’s going to have to learn how to fight.

 

Fighting isn’t something Wraith ever considered. She doesn’t even know everything about the strange abilities she has; how is she supposed to fight? To  _ win _ ?

 

She distantly hears the sounds of more gunshots, another squad falling. There’s a call of the title Champions. The bartender lets out a whoop, jumping. He wraps his arm around the closest customer and points wildly at the screen.

 

“They did it! Bloodhound did it!” he cheers excitedly. A grin lights up his face. The customer looks uncomfortable.

 

“I  _ knew _ they could do it, I had my bet on ‘em from the start, baby!” He does a little dance, removing his arm from the now-relieved customer. On the screen, Bloodhound’s team is standing victorious, although the cocky one is missing from the shot.

 

Wraith hesitantly gets up from her table and walks up to the bar. There is no whispered warning in her mind, so she tells herself that she is safe, however momentarily.

 

“You follow the Games, then?” she questions the bartender. The customer from before gets up and leaves. 

 

“Do I!” he confirms brightly, shooting her a wide grin. “I hear stories in here all the time, and after getting  _ this _ installed—“ he gestures up at the screen, “—I haven’t thought about anything else!”

 

“Have you been in them?” Wraith asks flatly. He seems… energetic. Nice, but too much for her to deal with at the moment. She needs to think.

 

He shrugs his shoulders, reaching out to wipe a glass with a rag. 

 

“Nah,” he answers, distracted. “Wouldn’t be able to live leaving my ma home alone. Although it’s a shame the world won’t be able to see how amazing I am, right?” He winks at her. She stares at him.

 

“Right,” Wraith echoes. 

 

“Name’s Elliott,” he continues, seemingly intent on keeping her in conversation. “Last name Witt, if you’re feeling nosy, or trying to steal some identities. Don’t target me, though. You’re probably cool, but I’m better.”

 

Wraith blinks. 

 

“Ah, the silent type,” Elliott says thoughtfully. “More room for me, then. Did you want a drink, by the way? Fixing to settle down and listen to how wonderful I am, or maybe regale me with your woeful tales? I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

 

Next to him, what appears is something Wraith can only describe as another Elliott. He winks at her as the first one continues washing glasses; in the next second, there’s a third one pulling into the stool closest to her, leaning on his hand and looking at her attentively. 

 

“What is happening?” she frowns. Her hand gestures vaguely at the various Elliotts around her. “Why are there… more than one of you?”

 

“I’m more than just a pretty face,” he grins. With a little flourish, the two Elliotts disappear, fragments of light floating where they were. As if it had never happened, Elliott stands alone before her, back to washing glasses behind the counter.

 

“What type of power do you have?” Wraith presses. In the back of her mind, the voices chatter louder, although they’re still indecipherable. If this Elliott had some type of cloning power, then maybe he could help her with… something. She can’t see how cloning could link to her traveling between dimensions, but at this point, she'll take anything.

 

However, her hopes are immediately dashed as he shakes his head. “Only the power of a brilliant mind,” he says easily. He holds a glass up to the light and squints, frowning at it. 

 

“Built this illusion tech with my mom,” Elliott continues distractedly, grabbing a new rag. He then leans in conspiratorially towards Wraith, saying in a whisper, “Don’t go spreading that around, though. These babies are my winning card. This is a secret between you and me.”

 

“Sure,” she responds aimlessly, halfway checked out of the conversation already. Wraith tries to focus, remembering that she wanted to learn more about the Apex Games and, hopefully, her past.

 

“What does it take to join the Apex Games?” she asks him, eyeing the glasses he starts throwing up and down in his hand.

 

“Oh, you know,” he replies airily, “little bit of this, little bit of that. Charming personality, fighting skills, willingness to murder. Things like that.”

 

“Of course,” Wraith chokes out. God. If she wants to win in Apex, she will have to  _ murder  _ people. Succeeding in the Games to try and learn about her past seems like more and more of a long shot, but at this point, what other choice does she have?

 

“Hey, it’s not all bad! I hear you get used to the killing,” he adds uncertainly, as if trying to convince himself, too. “Plus, if you do good enough, you get fame and riches, and when has having those ever been bad for somebody?”

 

Wraith’s fingers drum on the counter. Thoughts drift past as she tries to come up with what to do next. Would she really be able to do something like this? Enter into a ring and fight someone to the death? Maybe they were there for answers, just like she would be. How could she deny someone the right to figuring out who they were and still live with herself after?

 

“Hey, are you okay?” Elliott asks concernedly, waving his hand in her face. “I’m pretty sure you never ordered a drink, so this isn’t alcohol-spacing-out. This is like… advanced-spacing-out.”

 

“‘Advanced-spacing-out’?” Wraith repeats, frowning at him. “Have you never seen someone lost in thought before?”

 

“Lady, I’m a bartender,” Elliott grins at her. “It’s basically  _ all _ I see.” She rolls her eyes at him.

 

“What type of people join the Games?” she asks after a moment. He hums thoughtfully.

 

“Kind of… everybody, really,” he replies. He begins counting on his fingers. “Mercenaries, murderers, glory hounds, attention seekers; hunters, like Bloodhound.” He recounts his fingers, mouthing along and frowning, before shrugging.

 

“Plus some of those abandoned IMC folks,” he adds. “Maybe even some from the Militia—things got kind of rough after the fighting ended. I think most everyone joins to get a chance at whatever they're looking for.”

 

Wraith stares at Elliott intently. 

 

“‘IMC folks’?” she demands. “What kind?”

 

He looks startled by her intensity. “Uh, well,” he stammers, “I-I’m not too sure, myself. I know there’s been a couple of con-conte-conste-fighters with IMC background. Recently there was this one soldier, uh, Bangalore, I think? Bloodhound won that Game, but a lot of people liked Bangalore, and she did really well, so they revived her.”

 

“Bangalore,” Wraith repeats, sticking the name to her memory. It isn’t much to go off of, but it's a start. It is entirely likely that this “Bangalore” will know nothing about the facility that held her. However, she might know other things about the IMC, or even others who had been left behind, that might help Wraith in her search. It also seems easier to hunt down a seemingly popular Apex fighter who might have connections than tracking down every soldier the IMC ever deployed.

 

“Do you know anything about her?” she asks Elliott, aiming for a more casual tone. She didn’t mean to intimidate him before. 

 

“Strong, cocky, hot as hell,” he describes, comfortable once more. He grins at her. “Although I think you’re more her type than me. Shocking, I know.”

 

Wraith frowns at him. What is that supposed to mean? She gets the feeling that she will never fully understand Elliott Witt.

 

“Thanks for the help,” she finally settles on, giving him a nod. She lingers at the door, trying to think of something else to say. While very sure of himself, Elliott seems like a kind man. He is also one of the only people she’s spoken to… ever. She wouldn’t be opposed to further interactions with him, assuming he could put up with her confusion. And, likely, exasperation.

 

“See you around?” he asks hopefully, waggling his eyebrows at her. Wraith thinks that maybe she isn’t the only one appreciating the chance to talk to someone.

 

 

In the back of her mind, there are no voices whispering warnings. Wraith gives him a small smile, and with a wave of her fingers, she leaves the bar.

 

* * *

 

Finding Bangalore isn’t as hard as she expected. Searching her name in relation to the Apex Games online gives Wraith a small blurb about the woman. Her real name is Anita Williams. Since her first match was a good show, broadcasters had asked her to put on an interview, which Wraith reads the transcript of. She seems witty and confident. The reason she joined the games is because the IMC squad her and her brother had been in was scattered; her goal is to raise enough money in order to gain passage back to her family.

 

It seems a nice enough sentiment to Wraith— fighting to return home to your family. She doesn’t even knew if she has one; if she’d even recognize them. Whatever she might’ve had was taken from the facility she was held in. One owned by the Interstellar Manufacturing Company.

 

Wraith doesn’t know much about the IMC, or the war that had ended on the Frontier. Sources gave mixed views on the conflict. Some called the Militia terrorists, others freedom fighters; the IMC justified, or imperialist. She firmly believes that the IMC was in the wrong, regardless of the biased sources—there is no justification for taking over someone else’s home, with violence, just for profit. The institute she escaped might have been created with good intentions, but she doubted it. Her instincts say that the IMC is corrupt.

 

The question she has, then, is why Bangalore is proud to be a part of it.

 

Wraith doesn’t know the woman, doesn’t know her experiences. Bangalore’s entire family has been a part of the IMC. It's likely natural for her to join it after her brothers. But if the IMC truly did commit the crime of invading the Frontier, then how could Bangalore stand behind them? Is it something she believes in because she knows nothing else, or because their cause is one she genuinely stood for? 

 

She doesn’t know. And the uncertainty means that Wraith can’t let her guard down around Bangalore.

 

Walking slowly through the small neighborhood, Wraith glances back and forth between the house numbers and the slip of paper in her hands. She had eavesdropped on some drunk IMC soldiers that were happy to brag about their connection to the famous Bangalore to anyone who would listen. Coming to a stop in front of a house, Wraith eyes it up and down.

 

It looks… like a house. Wraith isn’t sure what she was expecting. She has no idea what a normal neighborhood should look like, exactly; what differs between areas of the Frontier and spaces on other planets. The house is small, one story, a small window next to the door with its blinds drawn. There’s a single flower potted in the window sill. She realizes that there is also, bizarrely, a worn garden gnome next to the steps. 

 

_ Watched. _

 

“Were you planning on knockin’, or just hanging around on my doorstep?”

 

Wraith turns around to find Anita “Bangalore” Williams sauntering towards her, a bag draping casually over her shoulders. Her breath catches slightly. She didn’t watch the video of the interview, only read a transcript. Meaning, she isn’t exactly prepared to see Bangalore in person.

 

She’s taller than Wraith, dark skinned, a cocky smirk on her face. Bangalore’s wearing an athletic tank top and cargo pants, revealing her muscled arms. She has a pair of dog tags resting around her neck. Wraith wonders why her face feels like burning. The voices in the back of her mind chatter aimlessly, seemingly as flustered as she is. Bangalore is, apparently, no threat to her.

 

“I didn’t know you were out,” Wraith replies a little stiffly, still feeling strangely embarrassed.

 

“Oh, trust me, I’m very out,” Bangalore laughs, winking at her. Wraith coughs.

 

“I heard you were a participant in the Apex Games?” she says, a little desperately. She feels unsettled, unbalanced, and she doesn’t know why. The discomfort is unbearable. Wraith can’t tell if she wants to push Bangalore away or pull her closer. It’s one of the most intense reactions she’s ever had to a person, and she doesn’t know how to deal with it. She urges herself to ignore her feelings and focus once more on asking Bangalore about what she came for.

 

“Yeah, last season,” Bangalore answers, walking past Wraith to her door. She opens it and leans against the door frame. “You a fan?”

 

“Something like that,” Wraith answers. Bangalore tilts her head as an invitation to come in, and Wraith follows.

 

The house is spartan. There’s a small living room connected to the door, a hallway branching off to the right. A small kitchenette lies in the back. While the furniture looks work in and used, there aren’t many decorations. 

 

“So, whaddya wanna know?” Bangalore asks, dropping her bag by the door and laying onto the couch. Wraith hovers by the door until Bangalore gestures with her foot at the chair opposite. She settles into it warily.

 

“What were they like?” Wraith starts with. Bangalore hums, thinking. 

 

“You served in combat before?” is her response, cracking her neck.

 

“Maybe not on this scale,” Wraith says carefully. She doesn’t know how much information she wants to share upon first meeting the Apex fighter. The truth is that she has no idea of anything; for all she knows, maybe she had been a part of the IMC. She shudders slightly at the thought. Bangalore accepts her answer, nodding slightly. 

 

“It’s life or death odds, relying on yourself and your teammates,” she explains. “I’m used to working with squads. The people I matched with seemed a little wet behind the ears, but they listened to my orders well enough, which was all that mattered.”

 

“How did you enter the Games?” she asks. The emphasis on teamwork doesn’t surprise her that much, for someone like Bangalore. The soldier seems the type to work well in squads, but someone like Bloodhound, a lone hunter, managed to get by mostly alone.

 

“It’s not that hard,” Bangalore says, shrugging. “There’s a facility by the Canyon. You can fill out an application there or online, and you’re registered.”

 

“They don’t make you do any tests?” she asks, blinking. Aren’t the fights for show? It seems unlikely that bad fighters would be good viewing.

 

“The people running it want to see who can hold their own,” Bangalore says dryly. “If people don’t have the skill they say they have, then they’re going to fail. Some of us are just good.”

 

“Like you?” Wraith prompts. Bangalore smirks at her.

 

“Like me,” she confirms. Wraith clears her throat.

 

“What type of combat experience would you recommend, if you want to join the Games?” Wraith asks. Bangalore looks at her curiously. “If I wanted to join?”

 

“Depends on what you’re joining for,” Bangalore says slowly. “Have a good enough motivation, you can train yourself to push past your limits. If you don’t have any drive, then you might as well not bother.”

 

“I’m looking for something,” Wraith answers shortly. She gets a raised eyebrow in response, and huffs a breath. 

 

“I don’t… know a lot about my past,” Wraith sighs. She glances down at her lap, twining her fingers together. “I’m hoping that the Games might have some answers.”

 

“How much does this question mean to you?” Bangalore pushes. Wraith meets her eyes.

 

“Everything,” she whispers. 

 

Bangalore stares at her for a while. She doesn’t know what the soldier is looking for. Wraith holds her gaze. She tries to convey how important this is to her, the idea of joining the Games and finding out who she was, who she is. What, exactly, was taken from her. She had woken up one day with nothing. If she spends her time making herself into someone new, how can she know that it won’t just all go away again?

 

A smile creeps across Bangalore’s face. She gives a nod of approval, and Wraith lets out the breath she’s been holding. If Bangalore can find something in her, then surely she can, too.

 

“You ever fought before? Got training in hand to hand, firearms, anything that can give you an edge?” Bangalore asks. Wraith looks down at her hands; hands that had torn holes open into the Void, allowed her to travel ways nobody else could. That could certainly give her an “edge” in combat. But is it something she wants Bangalore to know about?

 

Her eyes flick to Bangalore’s neck. The dog tags rest against her chest. She can just barely make out the IMC stamp.

 

She thinks it wise to be cautious.

 

“I’ve never had any training, no,” Wraith admits. She looks Bangalore in the eyes. “I was hoping you could help me.”

 

“You want me to train you?” Bangalore asks, one eyebrow raising in disbelief. Wraith nods.

 

“You competed once in the Apex Games and performed so well that they decided to invest in you,” she explains. “You were, presumably, in rigorous training to be a part of your squad. I think that you could help me.”

 

“I could,” Bangalore replies, but her voice is different. Sharper, like steel. “Why should I?”

 

Wraith blinks.

 

“You want to join the Games,” Bangalore says lowly, leaning forward. Her eyes never leave Wraith’s face. “I need to fight in the Games, to get back home. Why should I help competition?”

 

“I- I don’t know,” Wraith stammers. She doesn’t know why she hadn’t considered this. Of course Bangalore wouldn’t want to help her for nothing. It’s logical for her to not want any harder competition, if she already has Legends like Bloodhound to worry about. Wraith had gotten so wrapped up in the future, of planning to join the Games and investigate IMC facilities, that she had failed to consider how to proceed  _ now. _

 

“Think about it,” Bangalore advises. She glances Wraith up and down, a smirk on her face. “I’ll think about it, too. In the meantime, maybe we could talk some more.”

 

Wraith swallows, her face burning. She doesn’t know why or how Bangalore has this effect on her. Frankly, she doesn’t know how to deal with it, or what the other woman wants. There is no input from the voices in the Void, just a meaningless buzz that is slowly driving her to a headache.

 

“Thanks for the help,” she says stiffly. Wraith rises to leave, but pauses. Walking out abruptly felt wrong. And she does want to talk to Bangalore more, just preferably after she had time to think, sort out her own thoughts.

 

“I’d like to talk, again,” she adds hesitantly, glancing back. “If our paths cross.”

 

“I’m not opposed to making sure they do,” Bangalore laughs, leaning back into the couch once more. “Next time, you can call me Anita.”

 

“Right,” she replies. Her hand drifts to pull at her shirt, whispers floating in the back of her mind. “My name is Wraith.”

 

“I’ll see you around, Wraith,” Anita says confidently. She lifts her hand in a lazy wave. Wraith gives her a small nod back, and walks out of the house.


	2. seeking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i’ve been sick like all weekend and idk wtf this chapter is i started on the next one but i’m like tired and gonna just post so.. i love wraith

The days pass by slowly. Wraith feels like she’s losing track of time, like her decisions are looping over themselves and she’s done this all before. She persists, though. This is a good place for her to settle down—for the moment. There is no indication as to whether she’s being tracked or not, and Wraith has met some… nice, people here. It’s as good a place as any.

 

It’s also close to one of the facilities where she can sign up for the Apex Games.

 

Wraith doesn’t know whether she’ll be able to find answers there, but she has to try. To actually have a chance, however, she’s going to need to practice; both general combat training, and her ability to enter the Void. She had been hoping to learn the former from Bangalore, but it seems that she will have to go somewhere else for that. Maybe Elliott, the bartender, knows things about the area.

 

Her powers remain a mystery to her, and they aren’t one she’s certain about how to solve.

 

When she was fleeing the IMC institute, Wraith hadn’t had much cause to use them. There would be a whisper of a warning in the back of her mind, telling her not to go down a certain alleyway or trust the person talking to her. But she had never actually entered the Void itself. Power would build up inside her, as it had done when she was trapped, and occasionally she would have to hide in an abandoned building and ride it out. There was never any cause for her to enter the Void, so she didn’t. While the voices have been growing more agitated lately, they couldn’t _force_ her to do anything, especially now that she is growing more used to the pain.

 

Now that she has time to breathe, maybe it's time to start gaining a better understanding of the Void. For the moment, however, her focus is on finding a place to stay.

 

She is in a small town that she doesn’t know the name of. Bangalore’s home had been in a slightly nicer area, but Wraith, deciding to stay near Elliott’s bar, is in one more run down. Trash lines the streets, and people look at her distrustfully. She has absolutely no idea how to claim one of the small homes for herself, so she heads to the very edges of the town, where it looks most abandoned. There, she is able to find an out of the way, one-room shack, devoid of any furniture or claims that she can recognize. Hopefully, nobody will bother her here, although she should try and find some type of weapon she can carry on her person; Wraith has gotten warnings from the Void a few times while she was asleep, so she doesn’t have to be too concerned about staying alert, but having something to defend herself with would be beneficial.

 

There’s an empty space above her door that doesn’t lock. Looking around on the ground, Wraith grabs the sharpest rock she can see, and carves a crude ‘W’ into the blank spot. It will have to do for now, she supposes. She has no money and nothing worth stealing besides the clothes on her back. After a pause, she pockets the rock.

 

Having secured—in the loosest sense of the term—a place to stay, Wraith glances around. What does she do now?

 

Closer to the center of town, there is a market area, where people seem friendlier. Once she has money, then she could likely buy supplies there, such as spare clothes and food. She doesn’t need to eat much or often, but after she had escaped from the facility and focused on survival, Wraith found that she needed to eat something to regain her spent energy. She can look for food that will last long, and that she can carry with her.

 

She is more uncertain on how to earn money. The people in her current “neighborhood” seem as likely to stab her as they would talk to her, so she doubts that she can find assistance there. Her mind drifts again to Elliott in his bar. He had been nice, right? At the very least, he serves alcohol to people. Maybe they talked, and she could ask if anyone had… things they needed doing.

 

Mind set, Wraith walks through the streets, heading for where she last remembered the bar being.

 

* * *

 

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite patron that I don’t know the name of!” Elliot calls with a wide grin. She wonders for a moment why he immediately noticed her, before realizing that the bar is empty. He had been slouching against the counter and looking glumly into a glass before she walked in.

 

“I think I’m your only patron,” she replies dryly, walking over to take a seat near him.

 

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” he says, winking at her. Wraith rolls her eyes.

 

“Unfortunately, I don’t actually have any money,” she answers a bit awkwardly. It’s probably rude to walk into an establishment and not be able to buy anything. Elliott looks at her with a bit of concern.

 

“You know that the cheapest of these drinks are like, two dollars, right?”

 

“I’m looking for work,” Wraith says shortly. “Do you know anyone that needs something done?”

 

Elliott scratches his chin, thinking. With his other hand, he throws the glass from the counter up and down in his hands. After a moment, he snaps his fingers, and an Elliott clone appears next to him with a thumbs up.

 

“I think some dude the other night mentioned that he was annoyed with his neighbor because he kept hearing gunshots by her house because people kept trying to rob this package she wanted delivered,” he says confidently. She stares at him.

 

“You remembered all of that?” Wraith says dubiously. He grins at her, giving a small bow. The Elliott next to him claps, while another pops into existence on the chair next to her and looks at him dreamily.

 

“I am a man of many talents, Ms…?” He trails off purposefully. She realizes he’s waiting for her name.

 

“Wraith,” she supplies. Elliott whistles. His clones disappear after a moment.

 

“Can’t tell if you lucked out on the name draw, or didn’t even get entered into the co-compe-copetit-into it.” His joke starts off strong, but draws to an awkward finish as he stutters. She rolls her eyes at him again.

 

“I’m going to go track down someone’s neighbor that wants a package delivered,” Wraith declares. She turns to leave the bar.

 

“Aw, but you just got here!” Elliott whines. She looks back at him. On the surface, he is most likely trying to be annoying. But she thought that he might also be somewhat genuinely disappointed.

 

“When I earn some money, I’ll come back,” Wraith promises. He pouts. Another clone appears on the ground next to her, bent on his knees as if he’s begging her to stay. There’s a second one behind Elliott who’s sobbing the most dramatically she’s ever seen.

 

“It’s not like these things are vintage, I’d slide you one for free,” he offers. She turns back to face him.

 

“I… appreciate it, I do, and I think I’d enjoy talking to you more,” Wraith says slowly. He beams.

 

“But I really don’t have anything,” she adds. Elliott stares at her, worried.

 

“I need to find something stable in this area,” Wraith continues. “I’m planning on staying around for a while, because I need to… find something.”

 

“Must be pretty important then, if you uprooted your whole life for it,” he says, not unkindly. Wraith smiles grimly.

 

“It was something like that.”

 

The clone on the ground stands up, claps her shoulder, and disappears. The one that was next to Elliott shoots her finger guns before also disappearing. The real Elliott gives a dramatic sigh that Wraith can tell is just for show, because a second later he’s grinning brightly at her.

 

“Well, hey, who am I to stop you on your grand quest, or whatever?” he says. He picks up the glass he had been tossing previously and begins wiping at it with a rag. “Don’t die, try to come back so that _I_ don’t die of loneliness and it’s all entirely your fault, and lemme know if I can help out, yeah?”

 

Wraith gives him a smile—a genuine one.

 

“I’ll be sure to do exactly that,” she replies, giving him a small wave. He gives her a bow as she turns and walks out the door.

 

* * *

 

After walking around the area jumping at every shadow with the voices a constant hum in the back of her head, Wraith concludes that maybe she should have asked Elliott for directions.

 

The only information she has to go off of is “gunshot,” “neighbor,” and “delivery”. She isn’t a detective, and even if she was, those clues seem useless to her. Although, if she was one, then she’d likely have learned other skills for tracking down targets. Skills that she doesn’t have because she _isn’t_ _a detective._

 

Letting out a huff of frustration, Wraith leans against a dirty wall and rubs her temples. Every step she takes seems to set off warning bells with the Void, voices speaking over each other until she can’t tell them apart. It’s like the Void wants to guide her to something, but she isn’t sure what.

 

 _You’re being watched,_ she hears, and a split second later a gunshot rings through the air.

 

It sticks into the wall behind her, flying through the empty space where she used to be standing.

 

Her vision is hazy, shadows flicking at the corner of her eyes. Wraith frowns. Something about the Void is… different. She could still feel power coiling along her arms, the strength of it making her unsteady. But there are odd figures dancing around her. Silhouettes dart back and forth, in various positions, all moving at different speeds, and all disappearing at different times.

 

Wraith moves towards one. Her fingers reach out and graze the edges of it.

 

For a split second, she is someone else.

 

She is looking at the same alley that she was in just a second ago. She is wearing the same clothes, seeing her hands held out in front of her, but Wraith knows that this is not her.

 

A gunshot rings through the air. It hits. She falls to the ground, gasping.

 

Energy arcs from the shadowy figure into her, and it _is_ her, this time (isn’t it?), the Wraith who tore into the Void when she heard a threat. It intensifies, building up inside her chest, pain lashing out as it wants to be used, be _released_. It is as bad as it had been when she first woke up. Wraith feels her breath come out in choked sobs.

 

 _Move,_ she hears, an urgent whisper. Wraith realizes that she is still in the Void. Every second she spends is only making her agony worse.

 

Gritting her teeth, she clenches her fist, and steps back into the world.

 

There is nothing unusual about the sight that greets her, at first. It is the same alleyway that she was in before. There is even an unsettling feeling of familiarity, as if this isn’t the only time she’s been here.

 

But there is also a man with a gun, staring at her warily. He seems confused, but when the crackling of energy disappears from her hands, he raises his gun quickly.

 

Wraith ducks. His shot misses. _Disable him,_ she hears, in a voice that sounds like her own. She charges at him, launching herself at his knees, and he falls with a strangled yell. She scrambles off of him and snatches the gun from his limp fingers.

 

He punches her in the face. Wraith howls.

 

She drops the gun and jerks her hands to her nose, where she can feel blood dripping. It _burns_ , and she's used to pain, used to being destroyed from the inside out, but that she had been able to adapt to. This is a new pain, bright and loud in the middle of her face, and she doesn’t know what to do.

 

 _Look_ **_out._ **

 

He’s got the gun in his hands again. He brings it up to shoot her. Wraith jerks his arm down, but not before he can get another shot off.

 

The pain she felt before was nothing compared to this.

 

She screams, clutching at her shoulder where blood drips out between her fingers. The thin shirt she is wearing is already soaked. Feeling suddenly dizzy, she falls off of the man, crawling to the wall. There is nothing to focus on besides the pain, and she stares at the gunshot in her shoulder as if she doesn’t quite believe it’s there.

 

Wraith hears him climb to his feet. She watches with panicked eyes as he raises his gun and points it once more at her. Almost distantly, she realizes that she will die here.

 

 _Please,_ Wraith thinks. _I don’t want to die here._

 

 _You can’t, not now,_ she hears back. This time, the voice is less like hers and more like what she’s heard before. It is eerily calm. She feels power building at her fingertips.

 

Wraith concentrates, and rips herself into the Void once more.

 

She cries out on reflex, her wounded arm being jostled and energy already swirling around her. But she forces herself to her feet, and over to where the man had been standing. She can’t see him, only more of the shadowy figures from before, and she only hopes that he can’t see her, either.

 

Somehow, when Wraith tears out of the Void again, she has positioned herself perfectly behind her assailant. As if someone had guided her. She doesn't think about it, just jumps onto his back and clamps her arms around his neck.

 

He fumbles at her arms in confusion, but Wraith refuses to die here. She doesn’t let go, even as the man falls forward onto the ground. Her arms only relax when she can’t feel him struggling anymore.

 

She sits there for a moment, staring at the back of the man she just strangled. Her heart gets stuck in her throat, and she puts her fingers to his neck, hands shaking. To her relief, he’s still breathing. Wraith exhales.

 

Someone just tried to kill her.

 

Why? Why would someone target her? Is this something sinister, the IMC having finally tracked her down to her hiding place? Did someone not like her asking questions about the Apex Games?

 

Is it just bad luck, and someone thought she would be an easy target?

 

Wraith rolls the man onto his back. There aren’t any insignias on the clothes he’s wearing, although she doubts she’d recognize them if he had any. The idea of rifling through his pockets makes her a little sick, so she opts to sit there and stare at him dully.

 

After a pause, she reaches out to pick up his gun.

 

Her shoulder throbs with pain, and Wraith remembers belatedly that she has been shot. She feels blood drip down her face, and a stinging pain; her nose is broken as well. Wraith grits her teeth, trying her best to ignore the pain. It feels awful, but there had been times when she was practicing with the Void in captivity that had made her feel much worse, so she endures.

 

The Void. Her mind goes back over the fight.

 

What were those shadowy figures? Why did the voices sometimes sound like her?

 

Had she watched herself get shot?

 

As if they can hear her, the murmur at the back of her head gets louder. They are still indecipherable, so she isn’t in any danger at the moment, but Wraith can feel a headache forming.

 

Maybe it would be better to learn about the Void when she is safer.

 

Her fingers are sticky with blood. She rips a section from the thin material of her pants— she definitely needs money for clothing— and presses it awkwardly against her shoulder. She hisses at the contact, but she’s able to walk if she relies heavily on the walls for support.

 

She bites her lip. Where should she go?

 

Wraith has no money. The first job she tried to look for, she got shot before she could even apply. Not including the fact that she had no idea who was hiring, or where. Her life is a bit of a mess.

 

Maybe she could go back to Elliott? Perhaps he could point her in the direction of a doctor. She shivers at the thought, remembering white walls. A broken mirror and nothing but herself and the Void.

 

No, Wraith does not want to find a doctor. She has no way of knowing whether they’ll actually help her or not.

 

That still puts her back at square one. She can’t walk around with a bullet in her shoulder.

 

An idea hits her. Doctors aren’t the only ones who would have needed to tend wounds.

 

Leaning against the wall, Wraith slowly makes her way out of the alleyway.

 

* * *

 

“Is this because I said I wouldn’t train you?” Bangalore asks when she opens her door, one eyebrow raised. Wraith glares at her.

 

“I wasn’t aiming to get shot,” she grumbles. Bangalore laughs.

 

“Yeah, nobody is,” she replies, gesturing for Wraith to come inside. “Problem is when somebody else wants to shoot _you,_ and they can hit better.”

 

“Will you teach me how to pry a bullet out of my body?” Wraith asks, teeth clenching. She isn’t mad at Bangalore, but walking all this way had _not_ been fun; if the other woman is going to laugh Wraith off her doorstep, she’d rather it happen sooner rather than later, so she could crawl back to her stolen shack and pass out.

 

“That’s not really something you just learn,” Bangalore says, amused. She points at the couch for Wraith to sit on, then walks into the hallway in the back of her house.

 

Wraith doesn’t let herself get comfortable. Having Bangalore help her has a price, she knows it. She isn’t expecting the soldier to treat the wound for her. The best outcome Wraith’s hoping for is that she treats it herself and doesn’t damage her shoulder too badly, Bangalore giving her useful tips on dressing wounds for if it happens again.

 

Or perhaps _when,_ not if.

 

Bangalore reappears again, a small medkit in her hands. She eyes Wraith, who is sitting ramrod straight, muscles tense and teeth clenching.

 

“Relax,” Bangalore advises. She sits down on the couch next to Wraith, opening the box. “Why’d you get attacked?”

 

Wraith jerks back in confusion as Bangalore reaches to touch the wound herself. The soldier looks at her, eyes reflecting the same emotion back.

 

“I thought I was going to do it?” Wraith asks, frowning. Bangalore blinks at her.

 

“When you asked me to teach you how to take out the bullet yourself, you were being _serious?_ ” she responds, voice disbelieving.

 

“You helping me has a price, I know that,” Wraith explains, frown deepening at Bangalore’s expression. “It makes sense, I have nothing to offer you. I was hoping that I could try to treat myself and you would stop me from doing any… permanent damage.”

 

Bangalore pinches her nose, muttering something under her breath. She looks Wraith in the eye, setting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

 

“ _This,”_  she says, emphasizing the blood dripping down Wraith’s clothes, “is different. You’re injured. You’re right, I don’t want someone knowing everything I do fighting against me in the Games, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit here and let you bleed.”

 

“But I really don’t have anything to offer you,” Wraith protests. “Why would you help me?”

 

“You’re still a _person,_ Wraith,” Bangalore says strongly. “I’m not going to walk past people in trouble. I joined the IMC because I believed my family was right in trusting them to help people, and that’s what I’ll do.”

 

Wraith flinches. _But the IMC is dangerous,_  Wraith wants to say. The words die on her lips. Bangalore wouldn’t believe her about the IMC’s sins after one conversation.

 

“What’s wrong?” Bangalore asks, peering at her. “Does it hurt?”

 

“Yes,” Wraith answers. It isn’t a lie; the gunshot still burns. Bangalore doesn’t need to know that something she said hurt far worse.

 

“I meant what I said, Wraith,” Bangalore continues, reaching into the medkit. “I’ll help you, because you deserve help.”

 

 _You’re a person, Wraith._ The words repeat in her mind. She can’t make herself feel any connection to them. Is she _really_ a person? She has no family, no friends, no life before the facility. She woke up two and a half months ago with nothing besides herself and the Void.

 

Maybe she’s fooled Bangalore, and Elliott too, now that she’s thinking about it. Fooled them into thinking that she’s something, when she isn’t… anything. She’s playing at being a person. Everything was taken from her, and until she gets it back, she’s just a shell.

 

Bangalore slowly cleans and treats the wound, Wraith doing her best to avoid flinching. With the bullet out, she wraps it steadily in gauze. Bangalore pulls out a needle from the medkit, and pushes it into Wraith’s arm before she can react.

 

“What was that?” she demands, body jerking away from Bangalore. She clutches her arms to her chest, feeling panicked.  

 

“Slow down there, hotshot,” Bangalore says, arms raising placatingly. “It’s just a healing stimulant. Haven’t you seen it before?”

 

Wraith feels herself slowly uncurl, focusing on breathing. “Sorry,” she mutters. “Haven’t had very good experiences with doctors.”

 

Bangalore snorts at that, packing up her medkit. “I'm definitely no doctor, but these things are pretty common. It speeds up your body’s healing process, so you’ll start feeling drowsy soon, but the wound should be healed in a couple days.”

 

“Thanks,” Wraith answers, staring at her shoulder. She can’t see any blood dripping through her bandaging.

 

“You can crash here, or head to your place, up to you,” Bangalore calls from the kitchen.

 

“Are you sure?” Wraith says, picking at the torn edges of her pants. “You’ve already done so much…”

 

“When you said you didn’t have anything to offer me, I kind of get the feeling you were being literal,” Bangalore replies. Wraith purses her lips, not wanting to say she’s right, but Bangalore takes her silence as a yes anyway.

 

“If you’re getting into firefights, you might as well have someone trained at your back.”

 

“It wasn’t a firefight,” Wraith mutters. She stares out the window; in the far distance, warm oranges and reds are slowly being taken over by the night sky.

 

“How do you explain this, then?” Bangalore says, appearing in front of her. She’s dangling the gun Wraith took off her attacker between her fingers.

 

“When did you—?” she starts to ask, confused. Bangalore stares at her evenly. Wraith gnaws her lip.

 

“I was looking for someone who I heard had a job,” she says slowly, eyes never leaving the weapon in Bangalore’s hand. “In an alleyway, somebody attacked me. I was able to disable him, but not before he hurt me first.”

 

“Disable him?” Bangalore clarifies. Wraith gives a nod.

 

“He wasn’t dead, I checked,” she says. “I… didn’t want to go to a doctor. So I came here.”

 

Her eyes meet Bangalore’s. The soldier seems to trust her story, because she nods, sliding the gun into her pocket.

 

“You can sleep on the couch, but I’ll hold onto this for the night,” Bangalore tells her. Wraith nods in agreement. She has no plans on attacking Bangalore in the middle of the night, and if the other woman wants to harm her, the Void would give caution.

 

“I’ll give it back to you in the morning,” Bangalore finishes. Wraith nods again, almost absently. She feels drowsy. The couch beneath her is more comfortable than anything she had slept on before.

 

Bangalore notes her sleepiness and laughs a little to herself. She snags a blanket from a different chair and tosses it onto the couch.

 

“Rest easy, Wraith,” she calls. Wraith is asleep before she can think of how to respond.

 

* * *

 

A bullet hits her between the eyes, and she is dead.

 

A bullet hits her stomach. She pushes him off of her. He gets back up, and a bullet hits her between the eyes, and she is dead.

 

A bullet hits her shoulder. She gets him in a choke hold. He throws her off of him. She crawls away. He grabs his gun, and a bullet hits her between the eyes, and she is dead.

 

Over and over, Wraith watches herself take different actions, all of them resulting in her death.

 

With a gasp, she shoots straight up from the couch, power from the Void crackling around her fingers.

 

She clutches her head between her knees. What is _happening_ to her? She thought she understood her powers, understood the Void. But now, it seems that everything she knew is changing, again. Will she ever get stability? Why are her powers changing?

 

Her breath comes in short gasps. She hears the voices in the back of her head growing louder, but she can’t understand anything they’re saying. They don’t sound like her voice anymore. What did that mean for when they did in combat, then? Was that a fluke?

 

 _Breathe,_ she hears faintly. It’s a voice she trusts. Or at least, she _thinks_ that she trusts. It’s the one from the Void, something that has been there ever since she woke up. But what if she really has been imagining everything the whole time? Maybe she hadn’t ever left that facility, surrounded by white walls and mirrors. Maybe she's still there, slowly rotting away in a corner, with no idea what's going on.

 

 **_Breathe,_ ** the voice insists, louder, and Wraith finds herself taking in deep, shuddering breaths. She tries to ignore how much they sound like sobs. The familiar ache of pain is deep inside her chest, making her want to curl up into a ball, and she realizes with the distant sort of clarity that comes in the night that this is what her life is like. Wraith is curled up in someone else’s home, doubting everything she’s experienced and wondering if she’ll even _be_ able to experience it again. She doesn’t know why she woke up the first time with no memories, so who's to say it couldn’t happen once more?

 

Even what she has now, this— _pretending_ that she’s someone, was hard enough to get to. Wraith doesn’t know if she can do it again.

 

She doesn’t know how long she sits there, head pressing between her knees, rocking back and forth. Bangalore’s blanket is draped over her shoulders. After a while, breathing seems to get easier, and she slowly unfurls her body. She looks at her hands with a blank stare as energy flickers around them.

 

There are things she needs to learn about the Void. And she doesn’t think anyone will give up answers easily.

 

Wraith pulls herself to her feet. Outside the window, the sky is still dark. She doesn't hear anything from inside the house, so Bangalore is either still asleep or not bothering her.

 

She doesn’t want to bother Bangalore for her gun back, so she just looks for something to scrawl a note with. Spotting a pad and pen in the kitchen, Wraith hastily writes a note on the top paper. After a moment of hesitation, she adds another part to it, and quietly slips out the door.

 

_Thanks for the help. Something came up._

_Be seeing you._

_W_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also this chapter was originally going to involve lifeline but writing be like that hopefully i’ll be able to work her in to next chap.. it’d be cool to have interactions with everyone but some might only happen in an apex game. idk if i’m gonna write to wraith joining a game my Writey skills are very come and go lmao we’ll see anyway yeet. also like low key i’ve kinda started viewing the void as like a venom-esque being but more vague feel free to offer input/suggestions??


	3. realizations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ENTER WIFE

The Void is as it was before. Frustrated, Wraith tears herself back into reality, dropping down into the corner of her shack.

 

Walking back to her side of the town was thankfully uneventful. She slipped through still dark alleyways before finally reaching the tentative home she has claimed. It is there where she has been accessing the Void, trying to learn about why it has been different, but to no avail.

 

She’s tired, now, and the sun is slowly rising over the horizon. Wraith isn’t any closer to answers, but she has to keep trying. What else does she have?

 

Closing her eyes, Wraith slips into the Void again, and tries to see it differently.

 

The world is foggy and filtered blue. Everything is hazy and indistinct, even her own form. Power ripples up and down her body, as it always has, wanting her to use it.

 

But there are no shadowy figures. She does not watch herself die.

 

Wraith runs her hand through the air, watching the energy move like a lazy current. What is this place, truly?

 

 _Part of you,_ she hears. Wraith glances around. _Echoing, deep inside. Reflections of yourself._

 

“What does that mean?” she asks aloud, turning in small circles. She can feel energy building up, warning her to leave the Void before she is overwhelmed, but Wraith forces herself to stay. The voices seem more willing to talk now that she’s physically in the Void.

 

 _We are you, you are us,_ they chant. _Wraith, Void._

 

“Were you always with me?” she asks, more desperately. “What happened before I was in that facility?”

 

 _Do not know,_ they respond, and they almost sound mournful. _But we are the Void. We are with you, Wraith._

 

With a gasp, she tears out of the Void, landing on her hands and knees. Her breath comes in short pants. She can feel the excess of energy built within her, the shock of pain running through every cell in her body. She crawls into the corner and lays down.

 

Too much time in the Void will incapacitate her, Wraith knows. But this time, she was almost able to _speak_ with the Void. The voices spoke as if they were also a being, one that is connected with her, somehow.

 

She closes her eyes. The Void doesn’t seem like something that will go away, if she learns about her past. ( _When,_ she tells herself, and tries to believe it.) She doesn’t know what it is, and now it seems more like a _who._ Something else stuck in this world with no answers.

 

It’s a part of her, now. No matter what life she had before she woke up, the Void is something that she will always be able to hear. How can it feel anything besides inevitable? It’s the only thing that’s been a constant in her life. She feels as if no matter what choices she makes, the small whisper in the back of her mind will never disappear.

 

Wraith curls up tighter, forcing herself to focus on the pain. The voices chatter quietly as she goes unconscious.

 

* * *

 

Waking up is difficult. Her eyes have crusted shut, and her bones ache. But there is no energy gathered at her fingertips, so the brunt of the pain is over. She slowly pulls herself into a sitting position. The sun is still shining through her single, dingy window, although it seems a bit darker. Wraith guesses that she slept for most of the day.

 

She sits there for a moment, wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her chin on them. She doesn’t know what to think about her… “talk,” with the Void. The voices are quiet right now, quiet enough that she could pretend they aren’t there at all.

 

That's the problem, though, isn’t it? She’d always just be _pretending._

 

She will never be someone who is normal. Wraith has a voice from another dimension always talking to her. How is she supposed to live like that? How are _other people_ supposed to just accept that?

 

Even if she does find out about who she used to be, it might not even matter. There is no possible way she could go back to being that person. She has _watched herself die._

 

Maybe this is how she’s meant to live. Stuck in limbo, forever trying to figure out who she’s supposed to be yet getting no answers. Nothing but the Void for company. Wraith thinks that she might be able to get used to that. As of right now, it is all that she knows.

 

Her real fear is that it might all go away again.

 

What if the IMC catches up to her, and she gets proof that they didn’t have her held for her protection? Say she really is some—experiment, meant to be some type of weapon. Whatever had happened erased all of her memories once. She has no guarantee it couldn’t happen a second time.

 

There doesn’t seem to be a point in building some type of life for herself. It could vanish in an instant, and then she’d be back in the beginning.

 

Wraith might even get stuck back in that room, white walls on all sides, seeing nothing but her dead eyes looking back at her.

 

She leans back down on the ground, staring aimlessly forward. It isn’t like there’s any reason to bring herself to care.

 

* * *

  


There’s a distant sound of voices murmuring. Wraith finds herself awake, but she makes no effort to get up. Either they will find her, or they will not.

 

They get louder. One woman has a heavy accent, and the person she’s talking to has a lighter tone. Wraith finds herself trying to figure out what they’re saying; she doesn’t really have a choice, seeing as they’re getting closer to her… home?

 

“It isn’ really a surprise Pawnfield is like this,” the woman says. Wraith hears the pair doing something outside. It sounds like they’re opening the doors to the buildings along the street. She doesn’t know what they’re looking for, though. She is definitely the only one living here.

 

“Jeez, look at this,” the man responds, knocking something over outside. “I’m glad we haven’t found anyone staying out here, this place is kinda awful.”

 

“We want to help the people, not scare them,” the woman counters. “This might be a good spot to set up, and then have them come to us.”

 

“Right as always, Ajay.”

 

 _They’re close,_ Wraith hears. She debates over whether she should get up or not. The woman said that they want to help, but that could mean anything. She decides to slink towards her door and wait to see what happens. The small window next to it gives her a small view of the street, where she can see the two of them walking slowly.

 

The woman looks to be about Wraith’s size, maybe a bit taller. She has pink hair in two buns on the top of her head, wrapped in a headband labeled with writing Wraith doesn’t understand. There’s some type of drone trailing behind her. The man she’s with is shorter than her, in a jumpsuit that has an emblem on the chest.

 

“The Corps gave us free reign, but you’re a senior member, so, uh…” The man trails off, looking at his companion nervously. Wraith wonders if she should change her description from “man” to “boy”. He looks very small. But at the same time, they both look a little young. Wraith blinks, thinking for a second. What is her _own_ age?

 

Giving him a reassuring smile, the woman turns in small circles to look at the houses. “We should be able to use some of these larger homes as a base,” she states, her accent strong. She gestures to a place across the street from Wraith, where there’s a run down two-story building with a smaller one squashed next to it.

 

“If we need to, we could maybe join these two, hm? But I think it is a good start to move our supplies here.” The… young man nods excitedly.

 

Wraith considers what she should do. She doesn’t know anything about these people, or what “Corps” it is that they're talking about. Is it a branch of the IMC, or another organization entirely?

 

She edges her door open enough that she can slip through it. Attacking the pair seems excessive when she can just ask. She is confident in her ability to avoid danger; the Void will warn her if anything about to happen, and she’ll be able to slip away.

 

The woman is more perceptive than she had guessed, however, because she spins around to face Wraith. Her face is wary, distrustful, but after seeing her lurking in the doorway, her expression softens.

 

“Hey, now,” she calls. “What ya doin’ hidin’ over there?”

 

“Waiting,” Wraith replies, leaning against the wall. She crosses her arms. The response she gets is a raised eyebrow.

 

“What’cha waitin’ for?” the woman asks. Wraith gazes back and forth between her and the young man, who looks nervous.

 

“To see why you’re here,” she says simply. Her eyes narrow. “Are you part of the IMC?”

 

The woman looks briefly disgusted, which is… more relieving than Wraith wants to admit. Her expression quickly pulls itself back to the open, friendly one from before.

 

“We’re in an organization tryin’ to help those affected by fightin’,” she says proudly. “The Frontier Corps wants to give aid to everyone out here, to people that the IMC has wronged.”

 

Wraith feels her shoulders relax. That sounds genuine enough to her. And with somebody having acknowledged that the IMC has hurt people, then Wraith could know that it was even more likely they had done something to her, too. At any rate, if they aren’t related to the IMC, then she doesn’t have to worry about being given back to them.

 

“Good,” Wraith replies. “Don’t bother me.”

 

And with that, she heads back inside, laying down on the floor. Since there isn’t any threat of her losing everything again, she doesn’t have to care.

 

* * *

  


She’s not really sure how much time passes. To Wraith, it all just feels like nothing. The voices murmur too quiet to hear, and she lays on the floor, and she stares at the wall, and that is her life.

 

There are things that she wants to do, but they feel distant, untouchable. How likely is she really to succeed in the Apex Games? Wraith almost died in an alley against one person. There would be fifty-seven others to fight against. Even if she did, somehow, manage to survive, how would she learn anything about herself? What are the chances that the abandoned IMC facilities have anything about her past, anything at all?

 

The chances seem very, very low.

 

 _You are weak,_ she hears. Wraith frowns, curling tighter into a ball. The voices commenting on her general well being is new.

 

 _You need food,_ they insist. _Energy. For the Void._

 

“Always the Void with you, isn’t it?” she mutters hoarsely.

 

The voices don’t seem to know how to respond to that. Frankly, Wraith wouldn’t be sure either. Has she really gotten to the point where she’s trying to have conversations with the entity in her head?

 

 _The Void,_ they repeat. _Sustenance. Come._

 

“What does it matter?” she asks, digging her palms into her eyes. “Why should I keep using the Void? For all I know, you’re the reason I lost everything in the first place.”

 

There’s silence for a while.

 

 _Eat,_ they say firmly. _Enter. Find answers._

 

“That’s the problem,” she growls. “I _can’t_ find any answers. You don’t know anything either.”

 

 _Haven’t tried,_ they argue back. They sound more unified than usual, blending smoothly into one voice. Wraith gets the impression that they are making an effort to get her to listen. _Have to act. This one may be correct._

 

She thinks on that, frowning. This… what? This decision? Timeline? Her mind drifts back to that alleyway. Hand reaching out to touch a figure, and then watching from her own eyes as she dies.

 

“Do you mean this reality?” she asks. “Or timeline? Is that what you are?”

 

 _The Void is with you. Every you._ _See what you did then. Guide you different now._

 

“So in every life, I have… you,” Wraith responds dully. Her life really is meaningless, if there’s multiple versions of herself and yet every one is just as clueless.

 

They chatter over one another for a bit, as if thinking, before responding. _Every you like you,_ it clarifies. _See your danger._

 

That didn’t really explain anything better, but Wraith is, apparently, talking to an inter-dimensional entity that is locked onto her life. She doesn’t really know what answers she was expecting.

 

She tries to piece together what she’s learned from the Void so far. It’s connected, somehow, to other timelines. Specifically, _her_ in other timelines. The Void can sense what happened to these other Wraiths, and advise her on what actions to take. She assumes that that knowledge is limited to combat; if the Void knew everything about her life, then it would probably give her more specific plans instead of just warnings about being watched.

 

“Why are you connected to me?” she asks, rolling onto her back.

 

 _Don’t know,_ is her response. She rolls her eyes, but they continue. _Connected with you. You use the Void. We are seen._

 

“Are there… others, of you?” Wraith wonders, raising her hand to the sky. It doesn’t look like anything special. It looks like her hand. And yet it is able to travel her through another dimension. Or converse with an entity that allows her to travel through another dimension, which is also actually the entity. She’s not really clear on the specifics.

 

 _Connected with you,_ they repeat. Wraith interprets it as “I don’t know, stop asking,” which seems fair.

 

“So if I’m the only person that can use you,” she says aloud, “then that’s probably why you want to keep me safe. You want me to keep using you.”

 

**_Yes._ **

 

She winces slightly. The Void definitely wants her to keep using her powers. Maybe that is why she got overwhelmed with energy sometimes; the power would build up inside of her, and the Void wants her to use it, but instead she just rode it out until it died down again. For the times it's especially painful, maybe going into the Void will help, although it is likely that there will still always be pain from it running through her.

 

 _Eat,_ she hears. Wraith remembers what had started this whole conversation. She doesn’t remember the last time she ate anything. Her body is rather tired. It feels like she has been lying there for days. But still, even after learning all these things from the Void, she found that she doesn’t care that much. Because maybe there are other timelines, other iterations of herself, but the Void is a part of all of them, too. Does she know anything about herself in those? Is it possible for her to ever learn about her past?

 

 _Outside,_ she hears, and a second later her thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door.

 

She stares at it, not registering what happened until there’s another one a minute later.

 

“Are ya in there?” Wraith hears, and she recognizes it as the woman who had been wandering outside. She frowns. Why is she here?

 

“Nobody’s seen ya leave for three days,” she continues. Wraith blinks. Has it been that long? “I wanted to check in, see how ya doin’.”

 

Wraith sits up, staring at the door. She debates answering it. The woman had seemed genuine when they talked about wanting to help people, so it is possible she’s actually concerned about Wraith. Seeing as Wraith hasn’t been taking care of herself, she supposes that there's a valid reason to be concerned, if that is her goal.

 

Slowly, she stands up and crosses the floor, opening her door. She eyes the woman at her doorstep, who moves to lean on the same drone from before.

 

“Why are you here?” Wraith asks, aiming for an even tone but likely sounding hostile. The woman frowns slightly as she looks her up and down.

 

“You’re skin and bones,” she says, concerned, meeting her gaze. “Do ya have food? Water? Blankets, clothes?”

 

“Um.” Wraith curls into herself, suddenly feeling pathetic. She wonders what she looks like; wearing a worn, ratty pair of clothes, likely sporting bloodstains, the same ones as when she last saw this woman. She hasn’t washed herself recently either.

 

“Listen, my name is Ajay,” the woman says, drawing Wraith’s attention back towards her. Wraith doesn’t know what to do with the kindness in her eyes.

 

“We’ve gotten our station set up across the street,” Ajay continues, pointing a thumb behind her shoulder. “Do ya remember, from the other day? The Frontier Corps wants to help people, people like you.”

 

“Why?” Wraith blurts out before she can stop herself. She doesn’t regret asking the question, however. Because the motive here—she doesn’t understand it. What benefit does someone like Ajay get from doing these things? Why would she look at Wraith, a shell of a person, and think that she’s someone worth helping?

 

“Because you look like ya haven’t eaten in days,” Ajay replies. Her drone lets out a tiny beep. “And from what I can see, this shack isn’t able to support ya.”

 

“No, but— _why?_ ” Wraith fumbles. She recognizes what Ajay is saying; she has no resources, nothing to her name, so Ajay can’t really notice anything besides what Wraith is lacking. But why try and help, seemingly no strings attached?

 

Ajay looks at her. Now that they’re face to face, Wraith can see that she’s slightly shorter than Ajay.

 

“You’re suffering,” Ajay says softly. “I can help ya; I _want_ to help ya, because you’re in a bad place. Kindness has its place, even here, on the planet hostin’ a blood sport. Even for you.”

 

Wraith takes an unsteady breath. She feels… shaky. She thinks of everything she’s gone through so far; living in that white cage for what felt like forever. The fear as she realized she had been watched, and breaking herself out with nothing but the Void to help her. She thinks of a goofy bartender, and an honorable soldier, and she feels as if something’s crumbling inside her, the distrust and uncertainty falling away to reveal that she’s just scared. Of her powers, her past, of losing everything. Of this kindness that Ajay is offering her. Maybe there’s no point in letting people help her, because she’s just a walking mystery, someone who might have to rebuild herself from the bottom back up again. But.

 

“Let me help ya,” Ajay repeats. Her face is earnest, open.

 

“Okay,” Wraith replies, weak, and she steps outside.

 

* * *

  


The Frontier Corps works fast. The building across the street has been transformed into a type of hub; there are members assigning bedrolls to wary-looking people, and there’s a tent with a large soup kitchen. Some of the buildings nearby look nicer, as well, as if they’d been improved for someone to live there. There are new pipes spreading across many of the houses.

 

“You’ve set up a lot here,” Wraith says quietly to Ajay as they weave through the small crowd. Ajay sends her a bright grin, her drone letting out a cheerful beep.

 

“We want to get people the help they need as fast as they can,” Ajay explains, waving towards another member of the Corps. Wraith isn’t sure how many of them are walking around, but there don’t seem to be a lot. “The Corps was glad to fund us for an Outlands branch.”

 

“What made you come out here?” Wraith asks, gazing at the people around them. They enter the main building. It’s busier than the outside, and there are many blankets, pillows, and sets of clothes laying around.

 

“The goal is to help all the Frontier,” Ajay says over her shoulder as she pulls clothes off a shelf. “But we still need support. I’m goin’ to join the Apex Games here, and hopefully spread the word of our cause.”

 

“Guess the Games are the answer for a lot of people, huh,” Wraith mutters.

 

They come to a stop. Wraith realizes that Ajay has led her to some type of communal shower; there are several stallheads that look hastily constructed, different types of curtains allowing privacy. Ajay turns to her with a smile and offers her the pile of clothes she’d been carrying.

 

“If ya fast enough, you can probably get some hot water,” Ajay grins. Wraith slowly takes the clothes.

 

“Thank you,” she says uncertainly. Ajay rests a hand on her arm for a second, squeezing lightly.

 

“Go out to the kitchen when ya done,” Ajay says comfortingly. “We’ll get you a hot meal, hm?”

 

Wraith just nods. She isn’t really sure how to react. Ajay seems to know what she’s feeling, though, because she gives her a kind smile and leaves.

 

Walking to the farthest stall, Wraith steps inside. She places the fresh clothes on a small bench. There are some generic looking soaps resting on it. She showers quickly, not feeling particularly self-conscious. Her mind mostly drifts the whole time, knowing that if she were in any danger, the Void would warn her.

 

The clothes Ajay gave her aren’t an exact fit; her shirt is long sleeved and a bit tight, while her pants are baggy with several pockets. They’re comfortable, though, and warm, which is what Wraith cares about. Them being shades of gray is just another bonus.

 

Wraith wanders out cautiously, not wanting to draw attention to herself. The Corps workers who are there don’t seem to notice her, however. While she hasn’t seen many people actually using the Corps’ resources, they still seem to have a lot of work to do.

 

She walks out to the tent. This has more people than the inside of the main building had; it's harder to resist a hot meal, Wraith supposes. The Frontier Corps does seem genuine. She wonders how many people will accept its help.

 

Ajay’s standing behind a large pot. As Wraith walks up to her, she ladles a spoonful into a bowl and gestures towards a table. They sit on opposite sides, and she looks down at her meal. It… looks like soup. There are chunks of meat and vegetables floating in the broth.

 

“So,” Ajay prompts, leaning her hand on a hand, “I don’t think I ever caught ya name.”

 

“Wraith,” she answers absently, lifting a spoonful to her mouth. It’s good, and as she swallows it, Wraith realizes how hungry she is. She immediately starts eating faster.

 

“Nice to meet ya, Wraith,” Ajay says with a smile. Having Ajay just sit there and watch her eat should probably feel awkward, but it’s almost… nice.

 

“You said you’re going to join the Apex Games?” Wraith asks between mouthfuls of soup. She can’t really imagine the woman in front of her participating in a blood sport, when she seems so insistent on helping people.

 

“We need the publicity,” Ajay says. Her smile has faded, now; she gazes off into the distance, away from Wraith.

 

“You have to murder people,” Wraith states, pausing. Ajay’s eyes meet hers. There’s a glint to them now that wasn’t there before, a grim determination.

 

“I know,” she says quietly. “But with winnings from the Games, I can help support more people, people who don’t sign up for a battlefield.”

 

“So you kill people to save people?” Wraith asks. She wonders if Ajay’s killed before. Does that mentality help, in a fight? Knowing that you’re taking someone’s life to save someone else’s?

 

Ajay takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. She looks at Wraith evenly.

 

“Yes,” Ajay says simply. “The people who sign up for the Games—some of them are cruel. Some of them are tryin’ to win to support their families, too. But all of them are willin’ to fight. I take that fight, knowin’ that if I win, I can help all the people who don’t, or can’t, spill that blood.”

 

Wraith nods slowly, returning to her meal. She runs that thought through her mind again, that everyone who signs up for the Games is willing to fight. They could be looking for glory, or a fight, but the bottom line is the same. Learning about her past… maybe that was something Wraith could fight others for.

 

“What about you?” Ajay asks, looking at her curiously. “What brought you way out here?”

 

“...Answers,” Wraith replies shortly. She stares down at her empty bowl. “There are—things I need to know.”

 

“I hope ya learn them, then,” Ajay says with a small smile. Wraith finds herself smiling back.

 

“Do ya want more soup?” Ajay asks, nodding her head at the empty bowl. “I don’t think a lotta people trust us yet, so we still have a lot to go around.”

 

“That would be nice, thank you,” Wraith says quietly, grabbing her bowl. She stands up to follow Ajay back towards the pot, watching her ladle more into it.

 

The drone from before drifts over to Ajay, letting out small beeps. She grins and rubs it affectionately.

 

“What’s with the…?” Wraith isn’t sure how to refer to it, so she just nods at the robot.

 

“This is Doc,” Ajay says happily, leaning her weight on it. The drone lets out a high pitched beep. “It helps me heal people out in the field.”

 

“Cute,” Wraith responds. Doc chirps at her. She notices it has a light on the front of it that looks like an eyeball.

 

“Did ya want to stay in our housing?” Ajay asks, turning to look at her. Wraith glances at the building, then towards the shack she’s been staying in.

 

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m fine,” she responds, meeting Ajay’s gaze. “I’m not really…”

 

Ajay just smiles at her as she trails off. Wraith’s grateful that the other woman understands.

 

Wraith tries to think of something else to talk about it. She’s drawn to Ajay, to the kindness edged with steel. Then she realizes that she’s still holding a bowl of soup.

 

“You should eat that before it gets cold,” Ajay says, realizing the same thing. Wraith shifts where she’s standing.

 

“Right,” she says awkwardly. Hearing movement behind her, she sees a small crowd of people slowly drifting to the tent. Word seems to have spread about the kitchen.

 

“I’ll go,” Wraith says lamely. After a moment, though, she turns back to Ajay, staring at her intently.

 

“You mentioned the IMC, before,” she begins, watching the way Ajay’s eyes harden. “I… haven’t had great experiences with them. Can I—talk to you? Later?”

 

Glancing at the people coming their way, Ajay gives Wraith a small nod.

 

“I’ll be here,” she states. Her eyes fill with kindness again, as she meets Wraith’s gaze.

 

“I’m sorry for whatever the IMC did to ya,” Ajay says softly. Her hand reaches out to Wraith’s arm again. The spot she’s touching is warm. “I’ll try and help ya, however I can, alright?”

 

“Thank you,” Wraith murmurs. Ajay squeezes her arm. Giving her a small, grateful smile, Wraith leaves to find a place to eat.

 

* * *

  


It’s later in the evening. Wraith isn’t sure how many people decided to sleep in the Corps’ shelter, but there had been a lot of people in the kitchen. She had watched them come and go from her place across the street, waiting for it to get less busy.

 

She spots someone leaving beneath the tent, a drone hovering behind her. Ajay is coming to her, then. Wraith opens the door, leaning against the side.

 

“Looked busy,” she comments as Ajay draws closer. She gets a grin in response.

 

“I think people are starting to hear about us,” Ajay says happily. “I want to show them that we aren’t tryin’ to take advantage. We just want to help.”

 

“You helped me,” Wraith murmurs. “I’m sure they’ll learn.”

 

“What did ya want to talk about?” Ajay asks, leaning against Doc. Wraith gestures for her to come inside, where the medic glances around the shack with pursed lips.

 

“I’m bringin’ ya a bedroll tomorrow,” she declares. Her tone suggests Wraith shouldn’t bother arguing.

 

“You said that the IMC has done bad things,” Wraith begins carefully. She leans against the wall, watching Ajay’s face for her reaction. “What… kind of things?”

 

“They invaded the Frontier,” Ajay responds immediately. She begins pacing slightly, tone growing passionate. Her accent grows thicker.  “They thought that they had some type of right to the land that people had been livin’ on. They started a war over it that ruined millions of lives. People are still tryin’ to recover from it.”

 

“What were they trying to gain?” Wraith asks. Ajay snorts.

 

“Power, money, anything that would benefit _them,_ ” she says scornfully. “They didn’t care about the people, not really. They just wanted to maximize their profits.”

 

“How advanced is their technology?” Wraith says hesitantly. “Did they do a lot of—experiments, maybe?”

 

“Experiments?” Ajay frowns, pausing. “I don’ really know. If they thought they could gain somethin’ from it, then it’s likely. Why?”

 

Wraith thinks, trying to decide how much she should tell Ajay. This is different from talking to Bangalore. The medic’s motives are more clear to her, and she obviously has no loyalty to the IMC. Maybe she can be trusted.

 

 _Caution,_ she hears, and Wraith frowns. What could the voices possibly be warning her about? Ajay’s motive is to help people. There isn’t any reason she would harm her.

 

Suddenly, Wraith feels sparks shoot along her arm, and she sucks in a breath. Maybe the Void isn’t warning her about Ajay. Maybe it's warning her about itself.

 

“Are you alright?” Ajay asks, concerned. She reaches out to place the back of her palm against Wraith’s forehead. “Ya look a little pale.”

 

“I’m fine,” she manages, forcing herself to stand straighter. “I’m just a little tired.”

 

The call of the Void is growing, an echo she can feel in her bones. Wraith can tell it wants her to use it. Now that she has eaten something, and spent the day resting, the Void beckons to her.

 

Ajay watches her, a small frown on her face. Wraith feels as if she should bring Ajay’s smile back.

 

“Really,” she tries to reassure, meeting the medic’s eyes. “I just—”

 

Her sentence is interrupted by a grunt as she doubles over, shuddering. The Void’s energy is gathering at her fingertips, and she sucks in a breath. Absently, she thinks that this will be hard to explain to Ajay.

 

“Wraith!” Her hands are grasp Wraith’s shoulders as she supports her. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I have a—condition,” Wraith grits through her teeth. She finds herself leaning into Ajay’s grip before she realizes it, feeling weak.

 

“How good are you at keeping secrets?” she gasps. Another spasm runs through her, and she sways.

 

“Tell me how to help you,” Ajay demands. Doc turns on with a distressed beep, sending out a tendril to Wraith’s body. She isn’t sure how much it’ll help.

 

“Just…” Wraith breathes deeply, trying to steady herself. “Step back.”

 

“What?” she asks, frowning. “Wraith, why—”

 

“Please,” Wraith begs, meeting Ajay’s worried stare. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

She isn’t sure what the medic sees. Ajay’s eyes search her face, and then she takes a small step back. Her hands stay raised, as if ready to reach back out to her.

 

Closing her eyes, Wraith takes a deep breath. The voices chatter louder to her, but they sound disparate, out of sync; she doesn’t understand them. When her power overwhelms her like this, maybe Wraith isn’t the only one struggling.

 

She clenches her fist, focusing. With a _crack,_ she pulls herself into the Void.

 

Energy settles around her, dancing up and down her body. It feels—strange. Like power is seeping out to the air around her, and yet at the same time trying to flow into her. It’s oddly invigorating. Wraith turns in a small circle, weaving her arms through the air.

 

 _Synced,_ Wraith hears, and this time they are joined, the smooth voice that she’s talked to before. With little effort, she pulls herself back out of the Void.

 

The pain has lessened greatly. It feels like there isn’t as much energy swirling around inside her, waiting to get out; it seems it siphoned out into the void. Although she isn’t in pain, she does suddenly feel exhausted.

 

Wraith isn’t able to sleep yet, however. She raises her gaze to look at Ajay, who’s looking at her in shock.

 

“What was that?” Ajay asks slowly. Wraith digs her thumb into her palm.

 

“That was the Void,” she whispers. Her eyes dart back down to the floor. She feels fragile, standing here and waiting for Ajay’s judgment. If Ajay rejects her—

 

“Wraith,” Ajay says gently, and Wraith bites her lip.

 

“Come on, now. Look at me.”

 

She looks up.

 

Ajay has stepped closer, looking at her with compassion. Her hands reach out to cover Wraith’s.

 

“Are you in pain?” she asks. Wraith shakes her head mutely. The medic gazes at her.

 

“How much do you want to share with me?” And Wraith takes a shaky breath, swaying on her feet. How could Ajay be so—understanding?

 

Her eyes feel wet.

 

“I woke up three months ago in an IMC facility,” she says hoarsely. She keeps staring at the floor. “I could… do things. I broke out. I ended up here.”

 

Ajay’s thumb rubs small circles in Wraith’s hands. She focuses on them instead of the floor.

 

“And I have no memories from before that,” she finishes brokenly. Something drips down her face and lands, wet, on their hands.

 

“Oh, Wraith,” Ajay murmurs, and she pulls Wraith close to her. Hands cradle the back of Wraith’s head, and then she’s leaning into Ajay’s neck.

 

She—doesn’t know what to do. Her breath seems caught in her throat, as if it’s getting hard to breathe. But Ajay just holds her, and Wraith leans into it. Slowly, her hands reach up to Ajay’s side. When the medic holds her closer, Wraith lets out a small gasp, and suddenly she’s burying herself in Ajay’s arms. Her body’s shaking slightly. She wonders if she’s breaking.

 

Ajay’s hand rubs her back in small circles. Wraith holds her until she can feel herself steadying, drinking in the support for as long as she’s allowed to. After taking a deep breath, she pulls back, and they separate. She already misses Ajay’s comfort.

 

“Thanks,” Wraith mumbles, not meeting Ajay’s eyes. “Sorry for… that.”

 

“Don’t apologize,” Ajay says, hand reaching out to her arm. “I want to help you, however ya need.”

 

“It’s been a rough couple of days,” Wraith responds weakly. She finds herself swaying on her feet again. Her body feels exhausted, and her mind’s tired, too. There’s a lot of things to process.

 

“You should get some rest,” Ajay urges gently. “We can talk more in the morning, hm?”

 

“I appreciate everything, really,” she answers earnestly. Wraith forces herself to look at Ajay, trying to show her gratitude. “I… It would be good. To talk.”

 

Ajay smiles softly at her. Her hand reaches out to push a strand of hair back behind Wraith’s ear.

 

“Rest,” she repeats. Wraith nods, drowsy. She watches as Ajay crosses the room and leaves her shack, crossing the street back to the Frontier Corps shelter. The medic turns back to look at her with a kind smile, Doc floating along behind her, before disappearing inside the building. Wraith watches until she’s gone, and then closes her door.

 

She lays down against the wall, and drifts into the first peaceful sleep she’s had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk why this chapter took so long i also dont even know how long the breaks are between these updates.. i tried to make this chapter Longer to make up for it ;0) and I GOT LIFELINE IN HERE HELL YEAH i l o v e her.. am i trying to write bangalore/wraith? lifeline/wraith? bangalore/lifeline/wraith? i dont fuckin know dudes but like its gay ok so. now i get to figure out where im trying to go from here lol also re the town name. idk i try to be clever and i cant tell if its too cheesy or not dkljdhfg its basically Small Town on the King's Canyon Planet and the legends converge there for Fic Reasons ok. also i love lifeline's accent but i have no idea how to write accents. try and read it in her voice i guess?? i tried to write some things so that it's like how she talks but if its like Bad let me know


	4. practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tried to make this a bit longer kinda since it took forever idk why i struggled so much lmao. #writing anyway thank u all for the wonderful comments u guys are amazing and ilysm <3 <3

Everything feels hazy, as if she’s in a dream.

 

Sometimes Wraith is aware of conversation, quiet voices murmuring above her. There is the sense of blankets covering her body, and someone brushing her hair away gently.

 

Mostly, however, she just sleeps.

 

Images flash by in her mind, meaningless, as she dozes. A hint of blue, as she walks through the Void. Here, warm laughter as she enters a bar; there, a strong grip around her arms.

 

It’s almost peaceful. At the least, she is not crippled by pain, which is usually what happens after using the Void too much. As it is, Wraith just feels very, very tired.

 

When she finally wakes up, she is surprised to see Ajay leaning over her, but the medic looks at her much the same.

 

“You’re awake!” Ajay exclaims, pressing a hand to Wraith’s forehead. “How ya feelin’?”

 

“Tired,” Wraith yawns. She blinks up at Ajay, trying to get her eyes to focus. Her words slur slightly. “Whyya here?”

 

“You’ve been sleeping for three days,” Ajay says, staring at her. Wraith just blinks again.

 

“Huh?”

 

“I’m guessin’ ya fell asleep after we talked,” Ajay continues, turning around to mess with her bag. “When you didn’t come out the next day, I came in to check on ya, and you were just there, sleepin’. You didn’t wake up, and then ya kept sleepin’, but Doc didn’t report anything really wrong with ya…”

 

“Three days?” Wraith repeats absently, sitting up. She rubs her eyes. Sleeping for three days seems to be becoming a habit.

 

“I figured it was somethin’ to do with your…” she trails off, the medic making a twirling gesture with her hands. Wraith’s mind recalls what happened the last time she saw Ajay, and she winces.

 

“Right,” Wraith says awkwardly. She stares down at her hands, not wanting to meet Ajay’s eyes. “I’m guessing you have questions.”

 

“Maybe a few,” Ajay responds dryly, but her voice softens. She reaches out to touch one of Wraith’s hands lightly. “I won’t ask ya to tell more than you want to, but…”

 

“I get it,” Wraith mumbles. “I just haven’t really—told anyone. About any of this.”

 

Ajay pulls away, sitting up and crossing her legs. “Say what ya need to,” she says kindly. Wraith takes a small breath, and nods.

 

“I call it the Void,” she begins. The voices chatter in the back of her mind, but they don’t protest or give warning, so she tries to ignore them. “There are these… voices, that talk to me, and warn me when I’m in danger.”

 

“And you just woke up with it?”

 

“Yes. I was in some sort of padded room. I didn’t want to stay there, so I broke out, and then I ended up here.”

 

“You said it was an IMC facility, yeah?” Ajay clarifies. At this, Wraith’s eyes dart up to the medic’s face. She’s frowning.

 

“IMC was written on the outside of the building,” Wraith replies quietly. “I’ve been trying to learn more, but…”

 

“The IMC are inhumane,” Ajay says, glowering at the floor. “They just take, and take, and don’t care who’s lives get ruined. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re at fault for what happened to you.”

 

“Did they… do something to you, too?” Wraith asks uncertainly. She picks at the edge of her shirt.

 

“No,” Ajay says, shaking her head. She meets Wraith’s eyes; her gaze is passionate, determined. “But my parents—they were supportin’ the war efforts. They wanted money. And they ended up supportin’ the IMC, too. When I saw how people were really bein’ treated by them…”

 

“You wanted to help them,” Wraith guesses. Ajay gives a jerky nod.

 

“So many out here in the Frontier are livin’ in ruin,” Ajay continues hotly. “There are lots of battlefields, from the IMC and the Militia. But the people left behind get _nothin’_ , just—abandoned. I can’t just stand by and let that happen if I can do somethin’ about it.”

 

Wraith sits there for a moment, thinking. The IMC has wronged many people, but does she count among that number? She has no proof that they’d done anything to her. Until she gets her memories back, finds out who she’s _supposed_ to be, then Wraith really isn’t anybody. Just another face in the crowd for the IMC; or, more likely, another forgotten means of profit.

 

“I brought some food,” Ajay interrupts. She holds out a sandwich, which Wraith takes slowly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be up today, but guess I got lucky, hm?”

 

“Thank you,” Wraith replies, eating in slow bites. She feels hungry like the last time she slept the days away, which is unusual in and of itself, but she tries not to scarf down her meal in front of Ajay.

 

“How’s the…” Wraith gestures vaguely outside, trying to refer to the building across the street. Ajay lets out a brilliant smile.

 

“It’s gotten busy,” Ajay says happily, turning slightly to glance out the window. “We’ve gotten a lot more people comin’ in, which is great. Our supplies have finally almost run out; you wouldn’t think I’d be happy ‘bout that, but I am. It means they’re lettin’ us help them.”

 

“That’s good,” Wraith comments, chewing on her sandwich. “I’m glad you’re satisfied.”

 

Ajay smiles sweetly at her. Wraith feels her heart flutter.

 

“You said you’re going to participate in the Games, right?” Wraith says hurriedly, trying to change the subject. Ajay nods.

 

“The last one just ended,” she says. “They usually run every couple of months. It might be awhile before I can join one—I wanna help the Corps out here, make sure we’re set up.”

 

“Have you fought before?” Wraith asks curiously. She gets a small nod in answer.

 

“I don’t love it,” Ajay says quietly. “I have killed people before, not many—I know their names and faces. But I’m willin’ to do it again, if I have to.”

 

“What’s it like?” she murmurs, halting her eating. She again wonders if she’d be able to kill someone in the Games, wonders if it’d even be necessary. There’s still no proof that she could find answers in King’s Canyon.

 

“I don’t think you ever get used to it,” Ajay replies, voice still quiet. “At least, I hope I don’t. I might be fightin’ for a good cause, but I’m still tryin’ to help people. I don’t want to forget the lives I take tryin’ to do that.”

 

“Were you in large battles, like the Games are?” Wraith asks, trying to veer towards a topic not so dark. She wants to know about the Games, what it would be like to take a life, but she doesn’t want to make Ajay sad.

 

“No, mostly just fights when people try to attack Corps buildings,” the medic answers. She lets out a sigh. “We give as much as we can to people, but sometimes there are ones who just… want to harm us. There isn’t a lot else to do for them.”

 

“Where did you learn how to use guns?” she asks. There are a large variety of weapons used in the Games; Wraith isn’t sure how to go about practicing with them. What, exactly, does combat training entail?

 

“The Corps taught some self-defense,” Ajay shrugs. “The rest is tips from senior members.”

 

“You might not be the only one joining the Games,” Wraith confesses. The voices pick up again. She can make out a very faint _enemy, wary_ ; she doesn’t put much stock in it. It isn’t a warning about immediate danger, just suggesting that she might have to fight against Ajay in the Games.

 

…She might have to fight against Ajay in the Games.

 

“How long were you planning on waiting before fighting?” Wraith asks anxiously. Maybe they’d—get lucky, or they could plan something.

 

“Why do you want to join?” Ajay asks curiously. Wraith gnaws her lip.

 

“I’d heard that there were abandoned facilities left in King’s Canyon,” she explains. “Some are IMC, I think, though I don’t know which ones, or where. I was hoping that there might be… something. Anything.”

 

“That might not give ya a lot,” Ajay says, not unkindly. She gives a resigned sigh in response.

 

“I don’t have anything else,” Wraith replies, voice hollow. She forces herself to meet Ajay’s eyes. “The IMC has spread out so far, I have no idea where else I could start. But… I don’t want to fight you, either.”

 

“There are squads in the Game,” Ajay points out, “although I don’ know if you can sign up together. We might still go against each other.”

 

Wraith lets out a huff of frustration. “Well,” she sighs, “you said the Games probably won’t run again for a while, right? We can… think of something.”

 

“Have _you_ ever fought before?” the medic asks her, eyebrows raised. Wraith fidgets.

 

“No,” she admits. “I was hoping to gain training from somebody. The Void can give me a lot of warning, but I know it’d be stupid to rely on it entirely in a place like the Games.”

 

Her mind drifts back to Bangalore. She remembers why the soldier had refused to train her, claiming that she didn’t want Wraith to know all of her secrets if they would be fighting each other. Is her power of the Void a secret she should be keeping? Would Ajay use it against her? Wraith feels a headache coming on; she isn’t sure if it’s from the voices or trying to navigate a battlefield she isn’t in yet.

 

She doubts Ajay would try to manipulate her. At the least, it’s what she’s hoping for. For the future, Wraith resolves to keep her cards closer to her chest. Ajay has already seen her powers first hand, after all, and she explained them due to the medic’s concern. Having one person she can confide in will hopefully be a help rather than a hindrance.

 

“Pawnfield’s got a lot of fighters comin’ in,” Ajay says thoughtfully, drawing Wraith’s attention back to their conversation. “Since the Games are on this planet, hm? You might be able to get some help. Or bribe someone.”

 

Wraith lets out a small snort at that. She doesn’t exactly have money for bribes, or lessons, or for anything in general. Trying to learn how to shoot a gun will be difficult. Maybe she could drop by Bangalore’s and ask for the pistol she’d left.

 

Looking out the window, Ajay gives a small jump. She leaps to her feet.

 

“Sorry to run,” she explains, “but there is a _lotta_ people out there. They’re gonna need me.”

 

“Go,” Wraith says, waving her hand at the door. “Do what you need to. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

 

Ajay gives her a bit of an odd look at that, before rushing out the door and across the street. Wraith thinks for a moment about what she should do.

 

Dropping by Bangalore’s does seem like a good idea to her. She could either get a gun that she can practice with, or she would cross out that possibility for certain. And certainty is not something Wraith gets a lot of.

 

She can still hear quiet voices in the back of her mind, although they aren’t very obvious or distinct. Her small headache thankfully never progressed further; while she wouldn’t describe herself as refreshed, Wraith doesn’t feel terrible. She wonders if the Void is somehow tired as well.

 

During her first talk with Ajay, power from the Void had built up in her. That is a common enough situation; what had been different was her entering the Void with it. She had become incredibly exhausted afterward, and then quickly fell into a sleep that rested days. Energy would always be welling up inside her. It seems that she can either ride out the pain for hours until it faded, as she has done since first waking up in the facility, or enter the Void and siphon it away, falling into a deep slumber afterwards. The latter would grant more immediate relief, but definitely required precautions. Wraith resolves to do what she has done previously and wait out the pain, for future attacks, as it left her less incapacitated. From her hazy memories, the Void was disoriented in that slumber as well, so going unconscious for so long without that warning is unwise. She can’t always rely on being in a shelter and having Ajay nearby.

 

Glancing out the window, Wraith can tell that it’s about noon. If she’s going to drop by Bangalore’s, then now is as good a time as any.

 

* * *

 

“You’re not dead?” is the incredulous greeting she gets. Wraith gives Bangalore a wry grin.

 

“Not yet,” she answers, and Bangalore lets out a huff of laughter. She steps aside to let Wraith in, then closes the door.

 

“The second time I met you, you were shot,” Bangalore points out, leaning against the wall. “It’s been—what, a week, now? I don’t think it’s that unreasonable to think something happened.”

 

She stares evenly at Wraith, an eyebrow lifting. “Did something happen?”

 

The soldier’s putting on a front, but Wraith thinks she can detect genuine concern there. Lots of people lately have been vested in her general welfare; she can’t really say she’s sure why, but it feels… nice.

 

Wraith’s tempted to talk to Bangalore about what had really happened, tell her about the Void and how she now has a deeper understanding of it. But she remembers the thought that she had earlier, that she would try to keep her odd abilities to herself, and so she opts for something that isn’t the entire truth.

 

“There’s a new organization being set up where I’m staying,” Wraith explains. She feels awkward about sitting down while Bangalore’s standing, so she rests against the couch arm. “I ended up meeting some members, and lost track of time.”

 

“Organization, huh?” Bangalore asks. “That sounds vague.”

 

She debates over how much to tell the soldier. Ajay protests everything the IMC stood for, and Bangalore, right now, is someone who supports them. There’s admittedly no love for them that Wraith has, either, but she’s still fond of Bangalore, and respects her. It’s incredibly unlikely the soldier had anything to do with her imprisonment, which is most of what she cares about. So while Wraith is certain she can’t convince Bangalore to drop such a deep belief right now, maybe she could start planting doubt.

 

“It’s a humanitarian cause,” Wraith says, shifting slightly. “They want to help people on the Frontier who were hurt by the fighting.”

 

Bangalore nods in response to this, which is a good sign.

 

“The war was rough on a lot of people,” she answers. “It’s good there’s someone trying to help them.”

 

“Do you think the IMC’s doing that, too?” Wraith asks carefully. “Helping people,” she clarifies at Bangalore’s odd look.

 

“Yeah,” she replies, as if the answer’s obvious. “The only reason they came out here again was to try and get resources for the inner systems.”

 

“What about the people already living there?” The people they took advantage of and used for their own gains, Wraith wants to say. People like her.

 

“The IMC didn’t want to fight them, but the Frontier started attacking the bases they set up,” Bangalore says, shrugging. “Wasn’t much choice besides retaliation, at that point, although I do think everything got a bit out of hand.”

 

Wraith digests this, trying to analyze Bangalore’s words. What she had said is most likely biased information, given to her by her family and environment while possibly decades out of date. She can see why Bangalore thinks this way, even though she disagrees with it, and even if it's probably wrong. At the least, her final words suggest that maybe her belief in the IMC isn’t as unshakable as Wraith feared.

 

“Not a lot of things are always that clear,” Wraith says contemplatively. She changes the subject before Bangalore can respond, seeing the slightly confused expression on the other woman’s face. “I left a gun behind when I left. Are you open to giving it back?”

 

“Oh, that dinky little thing?” Bangalore actually scoffs. Wraith is insulted before she realizes that’s stupid, and it also isn’t even really her gun.

 

The soldier enters the hallway in the back, and emerges a minute later with a pistol dangling between her fingers. Wraith would be lying if she said she could recognize any of its features.

 

“The P2020’ll help you in a pinch, but it’s really not something I want to be relying on,” Bangalore comments. She holds the gun out to Wraith, meeting her gaze.

 

Wraith makes sure to keep eye contact. She gives Bangalore a small smile, and reaches out to take the pistol. The soldier seems to find something in her eyes, because she gives a short nod back. Wraith slips the gun into her pockets.

 

“You know how to use that thing?” Bangalore asks, dipping her head at the gun. Wraith shakes her head no. Bangalore sighs, sounding defeated.

 

“For starters, don’t aim at something unless you’re willing to shoot,” she begins. “Keep an eye on the safety, and your supply of ammo—that thing uses light rounds. I can give you some of my old kits for maintenance, too.”

 

Wraith blinks, confused. She tilts her head at the other woman. “What happened to not helping your competition in the Games?”

 

Bangalore gives her a withering look.

 

“Wraith,” she deadpans, “if you can take me out with a P2020, then I deserve to die.”

 

Wraith snorts. She pulls the small pistol back out of her pocket, turning it over in her hands, before glancing up at Bangalore.

 

“I’d be glad for any help you can give me,” she says with a smile. The soldier gives a dramatic sigh, marching back towards the back of her house.

 

“Teaching rookies how to stop themselves from firing a bullet into their feet,” she calls wistfully, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “No place like home.”

 

“Yeah,” Wraith replies quietly. As Bangalore leaves her sight, she glances down at the gun in her hands, determination rising. This pistol isn’t much on its own, but it is the beginning of Wraith learning how to fight. With it, she can find her way to answers in the Games. She can learn who she’s supposed to be.

 

“No place like home,” she echoes.

 

* * *

 

“This pistol really is awful,” Bangalore observes as she eyes down the length of the barrel. “Should be good for target practice, though.”

 

The soldier had brought her out back behind her small home. There is a wide, open space there, and the remains of a fence is sagging at the edge of it. Bangalore has set up various cans along the top of it, which are to be Wraith’s targets.

 

“Can I buy ammo around here?” Wraith asks. She shifts on her feet. “I don’t really… have a lot of money.”

 

“Better make sure you don’t miss then,” Bangalore replies wryly. She taps her pocket, where there’s the faint outline of a magazine clip. “Light ammo’s pretty common, so it isn’t too hard to get. I’m fine tossing a few clips your way.”

 

Wraith just nods gratefully. She accepts the gun when Bangalore holds it out to her. As she examines it, her mind seems to pick up on all its different parts; almost on instinct, she finds herself ejecting the clip and checking the bullet count. She stares down at her pistol, puzzled.

 

“Thought you haven’t shot before?” Bangalore asks, raising an eyebrow. Wraith looks at her with confusion.

 

“I… haven’t,” she responds slowly. “I just… knew how to do that, somehow. It felt right?” Her sentence trails off into a question. Bangalore looks at her doubtfully, and Wraith purses her lips.

 

“I wasn’t lying to you,” she says quietly. “I truly have never learned how to fire a weapon before. I don’t know how to explain this; it just felt as if I’ve done this before, which, I assure you, doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“I believe you,” Bangalore responds after a moment, meeting her gaze. Wraith lets out a breath in relief. “Odd, though. You can’t think of any time you would’ve done this before?”

 

Wraith eyes the gun in her hands. Bangalore doesn’t know that she has no memories. She herself doesn’t have any guesses for who she is supposed to be, either. Is it possible that she was some type of soldier before, and something like muscle memory is guiding her?

 

She doesn’t want to lie to Bangalore. Maybe she won’t tell her everything about the Void just yet, but she could talk about some of her past.

 

“I had an accident a while ago,” Wraith confesses. She drags her eyes up to meet Bangalore’s. “I—lost most of my memories, and I don’t know about my past. Maybe my body remembers something that I don’t.”

 

“Sorry to hear that,” Bangalore says, and it’s genuine. She isn’t looking at Wraith with any type of pity, just understanding. Wraith gives her a grateful nod.

 

“Well, let’s see how much you can pick up,” Bangalore continues, nodding at the cans on the fence. She steps next to Wraith, and starts gesturing at her posture. “Make sure to squeeze the trigger, aim down the sights, and try not to lock your elbows.”

 

Taking a slight breath, Wraith follows the instructions. As she aims down the sight on her pistol, however, Bangalore’s voice seems to fade away. It’s just her, the gun, and her targets. Her hands know what to do.

 

With focused clarity, Wraith shoots down every can with perfect accuracy. Bangalore whistles.

 

“I really doubt you would have asked me for help if you knew you could do this,” she comments. After a moment, she turns to look at Wraith, and her expression turns concerned. “Hey, you doing okay?”

 

Because Wraith is looking down at her pistol, and her hands are shaking. Her gaze shoots frantically between them and her victims—the cans, lying on the ground. Why was doing that so natural? Aiming down the sights and firing in between breaths; it’s as if she’s done it her entire life. Except she doesn’t _know_ if that’s true or not, because Wraith doesn’t know anything about herself. She’s just some empty shell that knows how to shoot eerily well.

 

What type of person is she supposed to be, if this is what her instincts default to?

 

A hand grips her shoulder. She looks up to meet the worried eyes of Bangalore.

 

“I—why do I know how to do that?” she asks shakily. Wraith can feel her whole body shivering under Bangalore’s grip. She’s not sure she can explain why this is terrifying her so much.

 

“Take a deep breath,” Bangalore advises. She takes several, trying to get her breathing under control. Bangalore’s other hand comes up to her shoulder as she turns Wraith to face her.

 

“I don’t know what memories you lost,” the soldier murmurs, eyes focused, “but knowing how to shoot a gun is just a skill. It doesn’t mean anything on its own. You can choose what to do with it, alright?”

 

She nods numbly in response. Her breathing feels steadier, but not much.

 

“Finding out about your past is important to you,” Bangalore continues, “and you think you can do that in the Games, right? Since you can shoot, you’re more prepared to learn that info.”

 

“Right,” Wraith replies, taking another breath. “It’s—it’s good that I know this now. If I’m supposed to be someone who knows how to shoot a gun, then… then now I’m closer to being who I’m meant to be.”

 

Bangalore tilts her head, frowning slightly. She squeezes Wraith’s shoulders beneath her hands.

 

“You can just be Wraith, you know,” she points out. Wraith gives a hollow laugh.

 

“I don’t know who that is,” she answers. “I’m not anybody.”

 

With a final, deep breath, she takes a step away from Bangalore, pocketing her gun. The soldier is looking at her oddly, but Wraith ignores it.

 

“Thank you for the training,” she continues. “And for talking. I feel better, now.”

 

“Well, that’s… good,” Bangalore says hesitantly, still eyeing her. The soldier crosses her arms, making sure to keep Wraith’s gaze. “Are you going to be okay?”

 

“I will, yes,” she replies, giving a small smile. It doesn’t feel like she’s lying. Wraith is determined to make use of the skills that she’s learning. While it was a shock to learn of her proficiency with a gun, it doesn’t mean that she’s going to be learning about herself soon. She will have to practice more with her pistol, make sure that this instance on their makeshift range isn’t just a fluke; then, she’ll have to move on to other weapons that she can acquire, to give herself a better advantage in the Games. She’s not sure how she’ll practice fighting other people, but she’ll have to cope—she doesn’t have a choice. Knowing of this skill with weapons will help her succeed in the Games, and while she’s sure it will be a tough road, at the end of it lies answers.

 

Without those answers, Wraith isn’t anybody. She needs to learn these types of things about herself, things that gave hints to who she’s supposed to be, no matter how unsettling they might be.

 

“I’m sure we’ll see each other again, Bangalore,” Wraith says. She’s surprised when the soldier gives a snort.

 

“I did say you could call me Anita, you know,” she replies. “Call me Bangalore when we’re actually in the ring.”

 

“...Sure, Anita,” Wraith says, feeling warm. She gives a slightly bigger smile to the other woman. “I’ll see you around?”

 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Anita says, winking. Wraith blushes, and the soldier laughs, turning to walk back towards her home. Wraith just shakes her head to herself, still feeling a smile on her face.

 

Steps feeling lighter, Wraith begins walking back through town.

 

* * *

 

“I’m guessing that since you aren’t actually going to my fine establishment, it was too much to hope you’re here for me.”

 

Wraith turns to find Elliott walking alongside her, a pout on his face.

 

“Elliott?” she says, surprised. She glances around her. Wraith hadn’t been paying much attention to her surroundings, mind focused on planning for the Games and knowing that the Void would warn her if she was in danger. Now that she looks around, she recognizes some of the buildings near Elliott’s bar.

 

“Wait, you own the bar?” she asks, blinking. He waves his hand in a vague gesture.

 

“No, I was just saying that, it’s owned by some weird guy I’ve seen like twice. But that’s not important!” He points at her dramatically. A clone appears next to him, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

 

“I haven’t seen you in—I don’t know, like two weeks! I thought you died!”

 

She thinks back to the last time she saw Elliott. Some of the days blended together for her, so she isn’t actually sure if he’s exaggerating or not, although Wraith wouldn’t put it past him.

 

“Sorry,” she replies, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’ve had some stuff going on.”

 

He lets out a huge sigh. His clone pats Elliott’s shoulder comfortingly, giving her a disappointed look. Wraith rolls her eyes at his antics.

 

“I’ve been so lonely,” Elliott says haughtily. There’s a spark in his eyes as he says it, though. “You’re basically the only person who ever wants to talk to me. The bar’s pretty se—seque—out of the way, you know.”

 

“I’ll try to stop by more,” Wraith answers dryly. His face breaks into a grin, as if that’s exactly what he wanted to hear, and his clone lets out a joyful whoop.

 

“Mission accomplished,” he says cheerfully. As they continue walking, he places his hands behind his head, whistling. The clone disappears with a fizzle of light.

 

“What’s been up, huh? How you doing?” Elliott asks, glancing around the street. “Heard there’s some new building in town, handing out freebies.”

 

“The Frontier Corps,” Wraith confirms, nodding. “They’re a humanitarian organization. Set up across the street from where I’m staying, actually.”

 

“Hey, convenient,” he comments. “Maybe you could give me some directions, then, I wanted to check it out.”

 

“It shouldn’t be too far from here.”

 

They travel out to the edges of town. It’s still not a very nice area, but Wraith does notice a lot more people than before. She isn’t sure if they were there before and are just out now, or if they came here because they heard about the Corps. They also don’t look as unfriendly as they did when she first came here. After taking a closer look, a lot of them look healthier, too. Ajay’s cause seems to be doing good work.

 

In front of them, Wraith recognizes the street where she stays. The sun is low in the sky, evening falling soon, but there’s still a sizable crowd in front of the Corps shelter.

 

“What do you need?” she asks, turning to Elliott. “There’s a kitchen outside, and they have showers and clothing available.”

 

He looks impressed at that, eyes slightly wide as he glances in front of them. “That’s pretty cool,” he admits. “I wasn’t sure if the talk was actually true, but I guess it is.”

 

“Yes,” Wraith agrees. As they get closer to the tent where the kitchen is, she spots a familiar drone hovering. “I’ve met one of the members. They want to help people.”

 

“Could go for some soup right now,” Elliott admits. He lets out a sigh; this one, however, seems more despondent, not one he’s doing for show. She glances at him out of the corner of her eyes. He’s looking off into the distance, gaze slightly wistful. “Miss those pork chops, though.”

 

“Pork chops?” she asks. Wraith hasn’t had them before. Or, likely, she doesn’t remember having them. She wonders what other completely innocuous things she’s missing out on.

 

“My ma made ‘em a lot back home,” he replies. “Reminds me of good times, y’know? All of us sitting around the table, for one moment not causing mom any trouble. Just a nice, hearty dinner.”

 

“That sounds nice,” Wraith says quietly. She doesn’t know how to describe how she feels. Elliott sounds like he misses his family. She wonders what his family is like. What experiences does he have, to speak of his mother so fondly, the rest of his family with exasperation? She has no baseline for what having a family is like. The person she’s supposed to be—what kind of family did she have?

 

Does Wraith even have that family, anymore?

 

“Hey, uh, that robot thing isn’t like—hostile, right?”

 

Her attention draws to the drone hovering in front of Elliott, who’s poking it warily. It lets out a low sounding beep, and he jumps slightly.

 

“That’s Doc,” Wraith tells him. “It belongs to the Corps member I mentioned.”

 

“That’s… something,” Elliott responds. He’s eyeing Doc; she notices that he’s stepped slightly behind her, and rolls her eyes.

 

“It won’t hurt you,” she reassures. “It’s for healing.”

 

“Well doesn’t that make me feel just peachy,” Elliott mutters. After a moment, he finger guns at Doc, and a clone appears in front of him. The clone falls dramatically to his knees, as if he’s been wounded. Doc lets out a high pitched beep, and tries to shoot a glowing tendril out to him, but the clone disappears when it makes contact. Wraith didn’t know that a drone could sound puzzled.

 

“Don’t confuse it,” she scolds. Elliott raises his hands up, in a “who, me?” type of gesture.

 

“Me? Confusing?” he replies. “I didn’t—did you see me do something? Because I could’ve sworn it was that guy messing with ol’ Doc.”

 

He points to where a new clone of him is standing, looking sheepish. Another one appears behind the real Elliott, nodding, face solemn, as if he agrees with Elliott’s accusation. Wraith sighs.

 

“I don’ know if it’s wise ‘messing’ with the thing that could save your life,” an amused voice says. Wraith turns to see Ajay standing in front of them, arms crossed. She gives the medic a small smile.

 

“Who would ever want to harm this face?” Elliott says immediately. He faces Ajay, striking a pose. The clone that was behind him pretends to take pictures, the other one fanning his face.

 

“I have no idea,” Ajay says flatly, gaze darting between him and his clones. Elliott looks wounded. She turns to Wraith with a raised eyebrow.

 

“This a friend of yours?”

 

“Yes,” Wraith sighs. “His name is Elliott.”

 

“And what, fair maiden, may I call you?” he says loftily, bowing in front of Ajay. His clones do the same before disappearing. She rolls her eyes at him, and Wraith feels her smile grow bigger.

 

“My name is Ajay,” she introduces. “The posturin’ won’t get you more supplies, you know.”

 

“I would never!” Elliott answers, affronted. He places a hand on his chest. “I came here to see if the stories were true, and maybe also snag a free meal since I haven’t seen my boss for, like, a month.”

 

“Well, we can help with that,” Ajay says, giving him a genuine smile. He beams back at her.

 

“Excellent!” he exclaims. “I ask that we hurry on, then, to the boun-bounteo- large meal that awaits us! Because I am actually super hungry.”

 

“Come on, I’ll show you,” Ajay says, walking towards the tent. Elliott follows her, continuing to chatter about something, and Wraith just watches them for a second.

 

She feels… warm, almost, watching the two of them in front of her. It isn’t the first time that she’s experienced this type of feeling, but she isn’t sure how to describe it. Being with these people  she’s met—Elliott, Anita, Ajay—it’s nice.

 

Wraith wonders, absently, if this is what family is like. Then she shakes her head.

 

Families, she knows, are people that care about each other. They’re made of individuals who have their own experiences. Since Wraith doesn’t have any memories, then she isn’t really a person.

 

Maybe when she gets her memories back, figures out who she’s supposed to be, then Wraith can have a family. Until then, she follows Ajay and Elliott at a distance, mind focused on winning answers in the Apex Games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok also like i have Some Thoughts about like. what im doing just gotta write it, but it would be cool having All the legends in here somehow. like specifically bh/caustic/gibraltar idk what to do bout them. bh is super cool and i love them but also like mysterious, and gibraltar is Great Gay Dad who i love. caustic's stinky but he's also like a char so i was lowkey thinking of making him the owner of elliott's bar lmao. oh shit and also i was going to have pathfinder in bangalore's role in this chap, ie teaching wraith to fight, but it kinda got away from me so now i need a new plan.. rip


	5. friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter but like i really typed this one out fast cos it was fun so hopefully i'll be able to keep this ball rolling!! ily all <3

After further practicing with her gun, Wraith realizes that her skill is not, in fact, a fluke.

 

She stays on the edges of town, where the sound of gunshots are less likely to be disruptive. Her ammo supply is becoming a bit of a concern, but what’s more disturbing is that she hasn’t missed a single shot. Wraith isn’t even sure if she’ll need to buy more ammo to practice with.

 

As it was before with Anita, firing her weapon comes as easy as breathing. Part of her knows that her P2020 isn’t the greatest weapon, but every hour, every shot, she manages to get more and more precise. When she focuses, she can nail a can in the exact same spot twice. She doesn’t know why she’s picking up the skill so quickly.

 

She wonders if this is what she was made for.

 

Her thoughts continue to circle over what memories she’s missing. She continues practicing with her gun, hoping that she’ll become skilled enough to participate in the Apex Games. Because while it is unrealistic that the Canyon would have something directly related to her past, it is steadily becoming her only viable option. She’s made some spare cash doing odd jobs, usually recommended to her by Ajay, but it isn’t nearly enough to get on a ship off planet. If she wins the Games, then she could earn enough money to perhaps investigate other systems, although the rewards aren’t her priority in the slightest. She figures that her best course of action is to try and win in the Games, and explore the facilities there; either she can find a hint about the IMC, or she’ll earn enough to go somewhere else.

 

Although, it might take her longer than she expects to be able to leave if she has to. She's noticed a lot of ships touching down in the distance, in towns further away from Pawnfield, but after the most recent Game ended, the amount has dropped significantly. Since there are so many contestants, she reasons that there’s an influx before a Game, full of people trying their hand, but after they’re over there isn’t any other reason to come here. The Outlands are very far out. With the Games running every few months, give or take, it could easily take her years to discover anything.

 

Wraith can wait. It isn’t like she has anything else to live for.

 

Two days after she brought Elliott to the Corps building, she notices another ship in the far distance. She doubts she would have seen it if she wasn’t already at the edge of town in her makeshift range. It’s the first ship she’s seen since arriving. Soon enough, however, the curious event fades from her mind as she goes back to practicing. It doesn’t become relevant until she pays a visit to Elliott’s bar.

 

* * *

 

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite patron!” Elliott calls dramatically as she walks in. Wraith rolls her eyes at him.

 

“You already used that,” she points out. “If I was really your favorite, wouldn’t you come up with more names?”

 

“Damn, you’re right,” he pouts. He puts a finger to his lips as he thinks. “How about… esteemed customer? Valued investor? Loyal be—benef—benefac—person.”

 

“Loyal person,” Wraith repeats dryly, taking a seat at the bar. She’s not surprised to find it empty. She tries to visit earlier in the day, to avoid the few customers Elliott ever gets.

 

“Come on, you put me on the spot,” Elliott whines. He starts wiping down a glass. “Anyway, did you just come here to mock me? Or are you actually buying something? For once, might I add.”

 

“Do you actually sell anything safe to drink?” she asks, eyeing the dusty bottles. He had said before that their drinks were very cheap, but even though she has money to spend, she isn’t really sure if it’s worth it.

 

“I’ve rooted out some of the more unsavory things,” he says cheerfully. He gestures at a bottle behind him, and two clones appear to point at various others. “Pretty sure half the stock the boss man gives me is some type of poison, so I just let it sit in the back. There’s a few things that are alcohol adjacent, though.”

 

“I’ll take something that’s cheap and won’t get me drunk,” Wraith says after a moment. Alcohol has no appeal to her; she doesn’t see the point in losing control of herself intentionally. She also really doesn’t want to see what the Void would be like if she got drunk.

 

“One water, coming right up,” Elliott replies sarcastically. He sets a glass on the table and fills it with a pitcher from under the counter. “You know this is a _bar,_ right? You’re like, supposed to get drunk.”

 

She sets three dollars on the counter. He sighs in defeat.

 

“Can’t say no to these tips my loyal person is handing out,” he mutters. She snorts. Elliott looks at her in mock surprise.

 

“I didn’t actually know you could laugh!” he says. One of his clones points at her dramatically, and the other swoons as if shocked. Wraith rolls her eyes at him again.

 

“If you keep acting like this, you’ll upset your loyal person,” she answers. He looks wounded, placing a hand over his heart.

 

“Well, I can’t have that!” he gasps. “Guess I’ll just have to keep these drinks coming, huh? One shot of water, coming right up!”

 

He fills her cup. Wraith watches as it overflows.

 

“I think it’s best to wait until I’ve actually drank from it,” she deadpans. He stares at it.

 

“Well, that was—that was actually an accident, you know, I don’t know why I did that.” Elliott coughs. Wraith discreetly takes his rag from earlier and wipes the counter down. His clones both give him a thumbs down and then disappear.

 

“Have you heard anything about the Apex Games?” she asks, changing the subject. Her gaze darts to the screen in the corner of the bar, currently offline. She doesn’t have a way of keeping track of it herself; this is the only place she could learn about it. At her question, Elliott perks up.

 

“Yeah, actually!” he answers. He grabs a remote and turns on the screen, then face palms as he realizes there won’t be a broadcast on of it right now. He turns to look at her a bit sheepishly, but continues talking. “It’s weird, they have this one set really soon; the last one was, what, about a month ago, now? They have another one scheduled in a couple days. Usually there’s at least two months in between.”

 

“A couple days, huh?” Wraith says softly, taking a sip of her water. Maybe it’s too soon for her to join, but—she needs to do something, anything, that will make her feel like she can learn about herself.

 

“I kinda wish I could sign up for this one, but it’s unrealistic, I know,” Elliott sighs. She looks at him curiously.

 

“Why can’t you join?” she asks. He shrugs, waving his hands in vague gestures.

 

“It’s just, y’know, I mean like—I’ve got this… gig, at this bar. Doing things. And also shooting, shooting is hard. Murder is like—woah, y’know? That’s a big step. Plus, if I don’t do good enough, then I probably won’t be sponsored for the revive system, and then when I die I’d leave my mom all alone, just like my brothers did—”

 

He cuts off, looking mildly embarrassed. She rests her chin on her hand.

 

“You care about your mom a lot, don’t you?” Wraith says softly. It doesn’t come out as a question; she can tell just from how he’s talked about her. Sure enough, Elliott nods enthusiastically, looking happy.

 

“She’s always supported me,” he answers. “Being the youngest, I mean, you know how it is—” she nods absently at this, “everyone else kinda already had their own thing. But I really liked working with her on all this holotech stuff, and then she basically made it super cool because she’s also super cool, and… yeah.”

 

“Why did you leave?” Wraith questions. It’s the part that she can’t really piece together. Elliott cares deeply for his mother; his mother cares about him. What reason would he have for abandoning that?

 

He rubs the back of his neck. “I always thought the Games were cool, right?” he says awkwardly. “And I just—I wanted to do that. But at the same time I didn’t want to leave my mom; losing three kids is already tough enough, y’know?” At this, his face falls into a deep sorrow, glancing away from her. After a moment, he takes a deep breath and continues.

 

“The dream never went away, though. And she saw that, and… she sent me off with all my holotech, told me to follow my dreams. So here I am.”

 

Almost mockingly, he takes a deep bow and gestures around him, at the dingy bar and its dusty contents. The screen has some pointless news program on in the background.

 

“I still don’t get why you can’t join the Games, then,” Wraith says, frowning slightly. He raises an eyebrow at her.

 

“Were you listening? I know I can kinda go on for a while, but there was the whole ‘I don’t want to die and have my mom be alone’ spiel,” he points out. Her frown deepens as she looks at him.

 

“Yes, I heard that,” she says exasperatedly. She curls her hands around her cup of water. “But, there’s the respawn system. You won’t die forever. And you said she wanted you to do this.”

 

That is the point of family, right? For them to support each other? From her view, Elliott’s mother has given him her blessing to do what he wanted to do. She wants him to succeed, and be happy. Why is he hesitating? What does she not understand?

 

“I have to be _good_ to get in the respawn system,” Elliott says wryly. He crosses his arms, shifting on his feet. “I know I’m amazing, but that’s mostly in the winning personality department, not the murder one.”

 

“Don’t you just have to be popular?” Wraith asks, shrugging. “Ani—Bangalore hasn’t won any matches, but people liked her, and she’s still alive.”

 

Elliott looks thoughtful. “You raise a good point,” he says loftily. After a second, though, he turns to her, face more vulnerable. “What’s the certainty that I’ll be popular, though?”

 

“Nothing is certain,” she answers. Ironically, that’s the one thing she _is_ certain about. There are millions of different paths in life. She raises an eyebrow at him, taking another sip of water. “But you’re in the ‘winning personality department,’ right? Seems like it should be easy for you to get the attention.”

 

“You’re putting up a really good argument,” he says, narrowing his eyes at her. “Do you have a motive here? Are you trying to score free drinks?”

 

“The Games is something you want to do for yourself,” Wraith says, shrugging again. “We all make our own choices. The person you care about is supportive of yours. The only thing stopping you is yourself.”

 

Her own words echo tauntingly in her mind. She needs to take her own advice, as well. She’s already determined that joining the Games is her best solution; now is a perfect time for her to participate in them. Wraith just has to do it.

 

“Pretty sure the bartender’s supposed to be passing out the wisdom,” Elliott states, but he’s giving her a soft smile. “Thanks for the pep talk, loyal person.”

 

She rolls her eyes, but gives him a smile back.

 

 _Contact,_ she hears.

 

The door to the bar bangs open.

 

“Hello, potential friends!” a cheerful voice calls out. Wraith turns to see a ginormous, bipedal robot walking towards them. She doesn’t know how to react besides staring blankly.

 

The robot comes to a stop in front of the bar. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Elliott gawking at them as well. The robot sees her sitting in a chair; they carefully pull out the stool next to her, and tries to sit on it. They’re far too tall. Their knees are against the counter. The screen on their chest displays a smiley face.

 

“My name is Pathfinder!” the robot declares. “I am looking for my creator. It is nice to meet you!”

 

They hold out a hand to Wraith. She finds herself shaking it weakly before realizing what she’s doing.

 

“Um.” Elliott seems as confused as she is.

 

“I believe now is when you also say your name!” Pathfinder says helpfully. He tilts his head at the two of them, and the face on the screen turns into a question mark. “Unless you are confused still? In that case, I will tell you what has happened from an objective point of view: ‘The robot walked into the bar. He told the people at the bar his name. He asked them—’”

 

“Okay, yeah, we got it thanks,” Elliott says hurriedly. He turns to Wraith helplessly, but she just looks at him. He huffs out a breath.

 

“Uh, well, my name is Elliott,” he says slowly. “And this is Wraith.”

 

“Hello,” she says, after a moment of silence. Pathfinder’s screen turns into a smiley face again.

 

“Hello, friend Elliott, friend Wraith!” he says enthusiastically. He lets go of Wraith’s hand—she didn’t even notice he was still holding it—and turns towards the counter. He glances at how Wraith is sitting, then mimics her pose, hands wrapping around a cup he doesn’t have.

 

“I am looking for my creator,” Pathfinder chirps. “Do you know where I could find him?”

 

What the robot’s saying finally registers in her mind, and Wraith stares at him. She feels a sense of kinship with him; they’re both looking for answers about themselves. She hopes they end up being different ones. If it turns out that she was created by someone, too…

 

“I’ve got no idea, sorry,” Elliott says apologetically. He seems to have regained his stride, as if encountering an eight-foot-tall bipedal, talking robot is entirely normal. Wraith supposes that the bartender can create clones of himself, and she has access to another dimension that talks to her, so maybe she shouldn’t be surprised.

 

“That is unfortunate,” Pathfinder replies, tone a bit sad. The screen displays a frowny face. After a moment, however, it turns back into a smiling one. “I will just have to keep looking! In the meantime, I have made two new friends.”

 

“What made you come here to look for your creator?” Wraith asks curiously. She wonders if there’s a draw to this place, as if it’s a beacon bringing people together. Pathfinder turns to her.

 

“This planet is the host for the Apex Games!” he answers. “If I fight in the Games, which are widely broadcasted, then the chances of my creator seeing me are very high.”

 

“Hm,” she says. Her plan is basically the same. Wraith hopes they can both be successful.

 

“Guys, I just had a crazy idea,” Elliott exclaims. She looks at him, and he’s sporting a wide grin. He throws his arms wide.

 

“We all want to fight in the Games, right? There’s three of us. The squads are in threes. Why don’t we… all sign up? Together?”

 

A clone appears and starts applauding wildly. A second one whistles loudly while Elliott himself bows repeatedly to his audience. Pathfinder looks curiously at the clones, thinking for a moment.

 

“From scanning my memory banks, I have found evidence from an advertisement paper saying that contestants can, indeed, sign up in squads,” he says cheerfully. He looks back and forth between Elliott and Wraith. “Since we are now friends, it is statistically more likely that we will support each other in the battlefield! If we all join, then we will not have to fight each other, and we can all participate in the Game, accomplishing our individual goals.”

 

“This isn’t an awful idea,” Wraith admits. She doesn’t know anything about Elliott or Pathfinder’s abilities in combat, but she does know of her own. Weapon training has been coming naturally to her—with her pistol, at least; it is likely unwise to rely on her having similar experiences with other weapons, but she can use one comfortably. And she does have the Void, something not even her potential teammates know about.

 

She thinks back to earlier. _The only thing holding you back is yourself,_ she hears. It’s her voice, repeating her own words back to her, but she gets the sense that the Void is pushing this idea, too.

 

Wraith will have to join a Game at some point. This seems like her best option.

 

“Alright,” she nods, looking at Elliott’s beaming face and Pathfinder’s smiling screen. “Let’s do it. Let’s join the Games together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my beautiful boy pathfinder. my lovely robot friend. also since i have no idea for what to do w caustic besides maybe fighting him in the game hes gonna be the owner of the bar. still at a loss for gibraltar/bh tho rip.. next chapter will probably be like training montage or something, maybe with more bangalore/lifeline also. and then After That... maybe we'll finally get to the real game :33 if yall have any suggestions or preferences or ideas for how the game should go lmk, like i mean i have plans but u guys are great too so


	6. registration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn’t read this over so sorry if weird tense mistakes or other grammar stuff im posting it on my phone lmao,, imma be at a thing for half the weekend so won’t be able to write and wanted to get this chap out for Y’all hope u like it even tho i bs’d a bunch of weapon and also other lore shit lmao

“So… guns, huh. They sure are something.”

 

Wraith pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. From behind her, she hears Pathfinder say, “They are, indeed, something!”

 

Combat training has been an experience.

 

The three of them had decided to become a squad only yesterday. They had made plans to meet up the next day and try to figure out strategies, for the next Game is in five days. Wraith had left the bar shortly after and resumed practicing with her pistol; she isn’t sure where Pathfinder went to, but today the robot had shown up with a variety of weapons that she doesn’t want to know how he acquired. Elliott, meanwhile…

 

“You know, I really feel like my arms aren’t strong enough for this sniper. My face should be seen in high detail, obviously; I think I’m more of a close range kinda guy.”

 

She turns around slowly to see Elliott struggling with a large sniper rifle, Pathfinder inspecting it next to him. In Elliott’s defense, this is the largest weapon Wraith has ever seen. It’s almost as large as she is. She’s unsure why Pathfinder even brought it.

 

“I have a proficiency with all manner of weapons,” Pathfinder observes. He takes the gun from Elliott and holds it with ease. “You appear to be lacking many skills. But that is okay, friend! We will cover each other’s weaknesses.”

 

“What, are you telling me you can actually use that thing?” Elliott says disbelievingly. Pathfinder smoothly hoists the sniper onto his shoulder, aims down the sight, and fires at a target Wraith can’t see. She squints; she can just barely make out a poster with the silhouette of a person, a hole where the head should be. It’s at least two hundred meters behind them towards town.

 

“I am much more trained than you,” Pathfinder says cheerfully.

 

“I—yeah, okay, fine, whatever,“ Elliott grumbles. He crosses his arm and turns to Wraith. “But that gun’s ridiculous! You can’t use it either, right?”

 

Pathfinder holds it out to her. She eyes it, then slowly takes it. It’s impossible for her to hold it as the robot had done, so she lays down on the ground, aiming down the sights.

 

There’s a decent scope on it, likely a 4x-8x variable. The poster Pathfinder aimed at is a clear shot. She can almost feel the gun humming in her hands from the energy ammo it holds. The Triple Take is familiar under her hands, as if she’s fired it hundreds of times. Wraith adjusts her grip, fingers falling into place easily, and in one smooth action she fires into the hole Pathfinder made.

 

Elliott gawks at her. Pathfinder gives her a thumbs up.

 

“That gun fires _three bullets!_ ” he says, aghast. He points wildly in the general direction of the poster. “How did you hit all of them? Why do you need three?”

 

“It’s a benefit of the Triple Take model,” Wraith recites absently. She stands up and examines the end of the gun. “The three laterally arrayed barrels allow for a wider spread.”

 

“How did you know that?” he asks. She blinks, pausing. Her grip tightens on the gun.

 

“Heard it before,” Wraith mutters. It seems that her weapon instincts apply to more than one gun—and now she’s spouting off information like a manual. She gives her head a shake, as if trying to knock her memories into place, but, unsurprisingly, nothing happens.

 

“Your information is correct,” Pathfinder adds helpfully. He takes the gun from Wraith, and turns to examine a small sack on the ground. It’s full of other weapons the robot brought. He bends down and rummages inside of it, before pulling out an oddly shaped pistol.

 

“Since you are not very skilled, maybe it will be best to practice with a gun that also isn’t very good,” he comments. He hands the pistol over to Elliott, who looks at it curiously.

 

“This thing looks fun,” he says, looking down the barrel. Wraith quickly walks over and points the gun away from his face; he looks at her sheepishly. “What’s wrong with it?”

 

“The Mozambique does not put enough force behind its shots to be as effective as a shotgun, and its spread is too wide to be more accurate than a pistol,” Pathfinder answers. “It is essentially useless. I think it might fit you!”

 

“Ouch,” Elliott says. He glances at Wraith, shaking his head. “I’m getting mocked by a robot,” he whines. She smirks at him.

 

“But he found a gun that matches you perfectly,” she teases. He pouts.

 

“You know, maybe I’m not cut out for this whole Apex thing,” he says, pretending to be hurt. After a moment, though, his face turns contemplative. He looks down at the Mozambique in his hands, not meeting her gaze.

 

“He’s not really wrong, I don’t have a lot of skills,” Elliott mutters. Wraith watches him fiddle with the safety absently.

 

“You failed to fire one gun that requires specific training,” she points out. “There are other weapons. You can learn. And your holotech skills are impressive; we can come up with strategies incorporating your clones.”

 

“I also do not think many of the other contestants will have vision that allows them to easily distinguish between you and your holograms,” Pathfinder adds. He points at his head, light blinking, the face on his chest smiling. “In that regard, we have an advantage!”

 

“Great pep talk,” Elliott says, rolling his eyes, but he’s grinning as he says it.

 

“Besides,” Wraith says, shrugging, “if you can get skilled while using an awful gun, imagine the kind of fighter you’d be with a good one.” Elliott laughs.

 

“Alright, alright, you’ve convinced me,” he replies, cracking his knuckles. He bounces on his feet and throws out punches in bad form, as if he’s fighting invisible enemies. His face lights up in realization; he summons a clone and starts shadow boxing with it.

 

“So, what’s next? How are we gonna turn me into an Apex winning champion?”

 

Elliott trips. His clone bows in victory. Wraith sighs.

 

* * *

 

“You’re finally not hopeless,” Wraith declares. Elliott finger guns at her.

 

The three of them have spent the past few days continuing to train, setting up targets for each other to hit. She and Pathfinder hit them with ease, so they spent most of their time helping Elliott. He gained some proficiency with snipers like the Longbow, but they are nowhere near his expertise; he has a knack for the Peacekeeper, however. And he still held a special fondness for the Mozambique.

 

“Our chances of winning the Apex Games now seem significantly higher,” Pathfinder adds. “With my scouting abilities, we will be able to identify the next ring’s location. I believe that we will perform best as a squad that strikes quickly and up close.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Elliott says. “My clones should be able to confuse people pretty good. And your ziplines are cool.” His face turns thoughtful for a second, and he turns to Wraith.

 

“We do still have to win the public’s heart so that we don’t die forever, right?” he asks. It’s said casually, but she thinks she can detect genuine unease in his voice. She nods at him.

 

“Should we come up with personas or something?” he continues, scratching his chin. “Like, this is supposed to be entertaining. We could make screen names. Or catch phrases!”

 

Wraith frowns. “I’m not doing a team cheer with you.”

 

“Ouch,” he replies. He gestures his hand at the three of them. “But really—I’ve watched a lot of the Games. The public can be kinda picky.”

 

Elliott holds up two fingers. “Bloodhound got entered because they won, like, three matches in a row, which is crazy. Bangalore got entered because she’s super hot, and also almost won the match by herself because her squad was incompetent. Everyone wanted to give her another chance. We need some type of shtick.”

 

She considers the idea. Bloodhound does have reigning popularity as an Apex Champion, and whenever they join a Game, the crowd is in their favor. They seem to be one of the only contestants who actually _returned_ to the Games after winning; the rest have just faded into the background. She also concedes to Elliott’s point about Bangalore.

 

“What type of ‘shtick’ could we do?” Wraith asks him, curious. He shrugs.

 

“We’ve got the most charismatic, handsome man you’ve ever met—” she rolls her eyes, “a quick-on-her-feet, murder you with a look kinda gal, and a quirky bipedal robot looking for his creator. All of that adds up to…”

 

“A dysfunctional mess?” she replies, frowning. He snorts.

 

“From my observations, many of the contestants were not very memorable,” Pathfinder chimes in. “I have formed a unique personality matrix from my travels. The two of you are also dissimilar to any other humans I have met. Perhaps if we act as ourselves, the viewers will become intrigued.”

 

“So just rely on our natural charms, you say?” Elliott answers, contemplative. He glances at the two of them. “I mean, I know I’ve got it in abundance, but do you think you two are up to the task?”

 

“You don’t think I’m charming?” Wraith deadpans. He rolls his eyes at her, a reversal from their usual interactions.

 

“You have a point, though,” Elliott says, rocking back and forth on his heels. “A lot of the Champions have kinda been nobodies. We could probably get to spicing things up.”

 

“We’ll be entering as a squad, as well,” Wraith adds, looking at him. “Is that common?”

 

He thinks for a moment, tapping his chin, before shaking his head.

 

“Nah,” he replies. “I mean, it’s happened a couple times, but mostly people just get grouped together at random. So, I guess we’re going in with some advantages.”

 

“You mentioned something about… personas, before,” Wraith remembers, phrasing it as a question. He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“In the same vein, y’know?” Elliott says. “People haven’t been memorable. They haven’t had anything that really dis—disting—sets ‘em apart. And we’ve got some skills, if I do say so myself.”

 

“So you want to create… a new identity?” she replies slowly. The idea doesn’t sit well with her, although it’s for reasons Elliott doesn’t entirely know. She’s trying to get her old identity back. Making up something else, trying to be someone now instead of regaining who she’s supposed to be, feels like setting herself up for failure.

 

“It could be fun!” he says excitedly.

 

“I do not want to be someone else in the ring,” Pathfinder points out. “I want to be myself. I am trying to get my creator to find me, after all.”

 

“I don’t want to do this either,” Wraith says bluntly. She crosses her arms, shifting uneasily. She hopes they don’t pry into her reasons. Elliott just shrugs, though.

 

“Hey, up to you,” he says. “I want to, though. My whole thing in combat is trying to get people to shoot at things that look like me but aren’t me, right? If I enter the ring like that, then I’m playing to my strengths. Or… something.”

 

“You just want to have a code name, don’t you,” she sighs.

 

“I really want to have a cool code name yes,” Elliott says in a rush. He spreads his arms wide, turning in circles. “Imagine! Me, up on those big screens! Everyone’s looking at me, the smoothest, funniest, prettiest contestant. Except they don’t know me as Elliott, they know me as… Trickster,” he finishes dramatically. He frowns immediately, pressing his hand to his chin.

 

“No, that’s dumb,” he mutters, starting to pace. “Hologram? Hologram-o? Cloney? Optical… illusion?”

 

“You didn’t even have a name in mind when you came up with this?” Wraith says, shaking her head. He ignores her.

 

“Deception. Decepticon. Mystery, Mystique, M… what are those things in deserts?” He rounds on Pathfinder. The robot tilts his head, staring for a moment, before his head light blinks.

 

“When humans are delusional in the blaring heat of deserts, they often believe that they see pools of water, otherwise known as an oasis,” Pathfinder says. “What they see is a mirage, however, caused by—”

 

“That’s it!” Elliott exclaims, shaking the robot excitedly. He breaks away and jumps up, pumping his fist in the air. “Mirage! Yes! That’s so cool!”

 

“What’s the best way to survive in a desert?” Wraith interrupts. She didn't know that information about mirages before, and this information that could help her survive is much more interesting than Elliott’s… whatever this is.

 

“It is important to stay hydrated at all times,” Pathfinder answers, turning to her. “Lack of water results in many problems for humans such as yourself. One strategy—”

 

“Wait, wait wait,” Elliott breaks in. He’s no longer jumping, thankfully, and he looks a bit more serious. “The Games in two days, right? We haven’t actually signed up.”

 

Her eyes widen. He's right. They’ve spent so much time preparing for the Games, but they’ve neglected to register for them.

 

“This town is the closest settlement to the King’s Canyon,” Pathfinder notes. “We can travel to the registration facility in approximately three hours.” He gives them a thumbs up.

 

“That is calculated for our walking times,” he adds. “I made the journey at a consistent running pace in a much shorter amount of time, but humans do not have my endurance capabilities.”

 

“I guess I could use the cardio,” Elliott sighs. Wraith shrugs. She’s gotten good at traveling long distances because she moved a lot after escaping.

 

“We should be able to sign up, then,” Wraith confirms. “There haven’t been many people travelling in to register, but they wouldn’t be hosting the Game if they didn’t have enough contestants.”

 

“Guess we should rest up, then,” Elliott says mournfully. He does a variety of stretches. “I don’t remember the last time I walked.”

 

“That’s comforting,” she mutters.

 

“It is likely that we will not return to Pawnfield until after the Game,” Pathfinder states. “You should make any preparations that you need to.”

 

“Alright then,” Wraith replies. “Is the bar alright to meet up at, Elliott?”

 

He gives her a thumbs up.

 

“See you guys tomorrow,” she says.

 

Soon, she will be fighting in a blood sport. But in doing so, Wraith will be able to learn about her past.

 

She tries to ignore the part of her saying King’s Canyon might not have answers.

 

* * *

 

The sun is still in the sky when the three of them part ways. Wraith isn’t entirely sure what to do with the time. Her P2020 is still in the back pocket of her pants. She finds herself wandering the town absently.

 

_Behind you._

 

Wraith turns around to find Anita coming up behind her. The soldier’s about to call out a greeting, but she halts after Wraith sees her. She catches up, and gives her a nod.

 

“Hey,” Anita says, hands resting in her pockets. “You’ve been training with that?”

 

“Yes,” Wraith replies, as the two of them keep walking. She frowns a little, looking at her pocket. “You were right, this gun is bad, but it’s been good practice. I’m going to sign up for the next Game.”

 

“Really?” Anita asks. She glances at Wraith curiously. “You know when the next one is?”

 

“It’s in two days,” Wraith answers. Anita blinks, coming to a stop. She turns to face Wraith, looking surprised.

 

“Wait, what?” she says, astonished. “The last one was barely a month ago.”

 

“I don’t know why it’s so soon,” Wraith says, shrugging. “I just know that it is. Are you going to join, as well?”

 

She’s not eager to face Anita in the Games, either. However, unlike Ajay, Anita’s entered in the respawn system, so the stakes don’t feel as high to her.

 

Anita swears quietly, walking back and forth. She looks frustrated. Wraith watches her.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asks. The soldier lets out a long sigh, turning to face her.

 

“You know I’m trying to earn enough to get back to my family, right?” Anita responds. Wraith nods. She runs a hand through her hair, starting to walk again. Wraith recognizes the area as near to where she’s staying.

 

“Well,” the soldier continues, “getting transport back to the inner systems is expensive. I could get off this planet, sure, but there’s a lot more ships I’d have to take, since we’re so far out. The price adds up.”

 

At this, Anita pauses, face scornful. She meets Wraith’s eyes, looking angry.

 

“There was a ship owner when I first got here,” Anita growls. “I—wanted to get back to my family. I wasn’t thinking straight. He offered me a deal, and I accepted. He wanted to win big gambling on Apex champions, trying to make what he thought was easy money. When he realized I was an IMC soldier, he thought I had a chance. Started boasting in bars about how I’d win the Game, be the next champion. If I won, he’d take me all the way home. If I lost, I’d have to earn him back all the money he bet.”

 

She sighs, defeated. “I lost.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Wraith says after a moment. She isn’t quite sure how to respond, so she just watches Anita. The soldier gives her a grim smile.

 

“The Games are the best option I have right now,” Anita says. “The captain—god, I don’t even remember his name—wants notice for when I’m going to join. But he does deliveries off planet, and his ship for some stupid reason isn’t connected to any comm relays, so getting a message to him takes a while.”

 

“So you can’t join this Game because he won’t know,” Wraith realizes. She frowns a little, thinking. “But can’t you join anyways, then give him any of your winnings later?”

 

“Since he’s listed as my ‘official sponsor,” Anita says dryly, “the winnings _can_ go to him, but only if we’re both there when I register. Otherwise, they default to me; the money gets locked into my account, and I can’t transfer it to him.”

 

“I didn’t even know there were sponsors for the Games,” she admits. “Do they provide you any benefit?”

 

Anita shrugs. “You don’t get anything during the fighting itself, so not really,” she says. “They can do things like promote you, manage bets, dress you up in fancy gear. But I’ve never heard of a sponsor having influence over the Game itself.”

 

“I hope you’re able to win a Game,” Wraith says honestly. She doesn’t want to fight Anita, but she does want the other woman to be able to get back home. The other woman gives her a softer smile at this.

 

“You, too,” she answers. “Or—I hope you get what you’re looking for from them, at least.”

 

As they round a corner, Anita glances up at the buildings along the street. In front of them, Wraith can see a small crowd in front of the Frontier Corps facility, even though the sun is almost set.

 

“Where are we?” she asks curiously. “Is this that ‘organization’ you mentioned before?”

 

“Yes,” Wraith answers. “The Frontier Corps. People must be getting a late dinner.”

 

Anita nods, looking respectful. “That’s good,” she says thoughtfully. “I’m glad there’s some help being given to these folks.”

 

“Do you want to meet one of the members?” Wraith asks impulsively. She winces to herself almost immediately. Having Anita and Ajay meet could go disastrously. She doesn’t take the question back, however, continuing to watch Anita.

 

“Alright,” the soldier replies, shrugging. “It’d be good to learn about the Corps, figure out why they came out here.”

 

Wraith guides Anita towards the tent outside. Many people have moved to the seats, a few walking away with their bowls. She can see Ajay standing at the head of the soup pot, chatting with another Corps member.

 

“Ajay,” she calls out. The medic turns to look at her, giving a smile. The member she was talking to walks away.

 

“Wraith,” Ajay responds, walking over to them. Doc floats over from next to the table. “How are ya?”

 

“Good,” Wraith answers. She gestures at Anita, who holds out a hand. “This is my—this is Anita.”

 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Anita introduces, although she looks oddly at her for the hesitation. Wraith flushes. She’s hesitant to call Anita her ‘friend’. Pathfinder flung the word around with ease, but she isn’t quite that confident.

 

“Nice to meet you, too,” Ajay responds. Her eyes, however, are slightly wary. She tilts her head back at where the pot of soup is. “Are ya looking for a hot meal? Or just chattin’?”

 

“Just chatting,” the soldier says, shrugging. “Wraith told me about what you do here. I thought it was a good cause, and wanted to check it out.”

 

“A good cause,” Ajay echoes. She leans back, crossing her arms. “If I heard correctly, _Bangalore,_ you think the IMC is a good cause, too.”

 

Anita frowns. “Of course.”

 

“Our goal is to help people hurt by the fightin’,” Ajay says flatly. “People hurt by the IMC. Out here in the Frontier, there’s a lot of those.”

 

“The IMC helps people,” the soldier protests. She stares Ajay down, who’s about a head shorter than her. “And they weren’t the only ones in the war.”

 

“No, but they did start it,” Ajay scoffs. Even though Anita’s taller than her, she’s still glaring back fiercely. “They invaded people’s homes!”

 

“They were trying to gain resources for the inner systems!” Anita argues back. “War wasn’t their intention, but when the Militia started attacking, they didn’t have much of a choice!”

 

“Is that what you really think?” Anita says, disbelieving. “That the Militia is at fault?”

 

“What else would have happened?”

 

Ajay just shakes her head. “The IMC isn’t as pure as you believe it to be,” she says disdainfully. She glances at Wraith, who’s been watching the exchange silently. “Did you want supper?”

 

“No, thank you,” Wraith says quietly. The medic gives her a nod, then gives Anita a hard stare. After a moment, she turns and walks back underneath the tent.

 

“The IMC does what’s best for the people,” Anita says after a moment, almost sounding confused. “They were trying to improve society. What was she talking about?”

 

“The war’s been over for a while,” Wraith says carefully, not looking at Anita. “Your family was all a part of the IMC. Have you ever heard about the fighting from sources not connected to them?”

 

“No,” she replies. “But—it’s just what happened.”

 

“Maybe not,” Wraith says heavily, turning now to face the soldier. “The IMC still has a large presence, Anita. It wouldn’t be hard for them to influence what you hear.”

 

Anita opens her mouth to respond, but Wraith cuts her off.

 

“Just think about it, okay?” she continues gently. She nods her head across the street, where her small home is. “I’m going to get some sleep. I’ll see you again.”

 

“...Alright,” Anita says slowly. “Goodnight.”

 

Wraith turns and walks away, leaving the soldier to her thoughts.

 

* * *

 

The next day, she wakes up early. When she glances out the window, she can see that there aren’t many people at the Corps center. Wraith slips out quietly and heads across the street, hoping to find Ajay.

 

Nobody’s in the tent outside yet. However, she does see Doc floating around outside. She walks up to it, wondering if it’s foolish to talk to a drone.

 

“I’ve met an actual talking robot, so this isn’t that much of a stretch,” Wraith says warily. “Do you know where Ajay is?”

 

“Where’d ya find a talking robot?” comes an amused response. She turns to find Ajay leaning against the Corps building.

 

“A bar,” Wraith says, shrugging. “He’s… nice.”

 

“Well, Doc here doesn’t speak,” Ajay replies, still amused. She walks over and leans on her drone, who lets out a high pitched beep. Her hand strokes it, like it’s a pet. “We get on, though.”

 

Silence falls. Wraith shifts on her feet, wanting to talk about the previous night with Anita but unsure how to start the conversation. Ajay seems to have no such uncertainty.

 

“You knew your friend is an IMC soldier, yeah?” she asks bluntly. Wraith lets out a huff of air, rubbing at her neck.

 

“Yes,” Wraith answers. “But Anita’s helped me since I came here. And she is a good person.”

 

“A good person in an organization that murders countless lives for their own profit,” Ajay says doubtfully.

 

“Anita believes in helping people,” she replies quietly. Wraith doesn’t want to get into an argument with Ajay, either. The medic is completely justified in being wary of the IMC. But with Anita…

 

“I think it’s possible to get her to realize the truth about the IMC,” Wraith admits. “Her whole family grew up with them. She’s heard nothing about what really happened, what they do to people.”

 

“Does she know about what they did to you?” Ajay asks sharply. Wraith flinches. The medic immediately looks regretful.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like—“ she starts.

 

“No,” Wraith interrupts. Her voice is small. “No, she doesn’t know about… me. But that’s the thing; I think of she learned more about the people affected, she wouldn’t believe in the IMC anymore. Anita believes in them because she thinks that they help people.”

 

Ajay watches her, thinking. “Alright,” she says finally. “I believe you. If you think we can change her mind, then I’ll try to get her to see, too.” Wraith feels warm when she hears her say “we”.

 

“Thank you,” Wraith says gratefully. She looks at Ajay earnestly. “I just—I think you two could get along. You both want to help people. Anita just needs to discover the truth, first.”

 

“If that’s true, then I agree with you,” she replies.

 

Wraith glances up at the sky. The sun has risen a bit, although it’s still early morning. She looks at Ajay, wanting to tell her about the other reason for her visit.

 

“There’s an Apex match tomorrow,” she states. “I’m going to sign up for it today.”

 

“Really?” Ajay says, surprised. “That seems so soon.”

 

“The last one wasn’t that long ago,” Wraith confirms, “but it doesn’t matter. I’m finally going to try and find answers.”

 

“I hope ya find them,” Ajay replies, smiling. “Stay safe out there, yeah? I’ll see if I can get a broadcast set up, so I can cheer ya on.”

 

“Thank you,” she says, smiling back. The thought of Ajay cheering her on is encouraging.

 

With another glance at the sky, she looks apologetically at the medic. “I should go,” Wraith says. “It’s a bit of a trek to the registration facility.”

 

“Go on, then,” Ajay says, nodding. “I’ll see you in a few days, yeah?”

 

“Of course,” Wraith replies. She gives Ajay one last smile, before beginning the walk to Elliott’s bar.

 

* * *

 

Pathfinder and Elliott are there already, the latter leaning against the wall and looking bored. When he sees Wraith, he jumps up.

 

“I didn’t expect _you_ to be late,” he says, almost accusingly. She rolls her eyes.

 

“It’s not even noon,” Wraith sighs. “We’ll make it in time.”

 

“Friend Wraith is correct,” Pathfinder says cheerfully. “Even walking at the pace of an average humans, we will reach the facility at an acceptable time.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, gang up on me,” Elliott grumbles. He stretches, before gesturing at the street. “Should we get going?”

 

The trip is long and uneventful. Their conversation mostly consists of Elliott’s dumb jokes, Wraith teasing him, and Pathfinder’s surprisingly interesting facts about the nearby area. After a few hours, they can see a building on the horizon.

 

The facility is on a cliff side bordering the large ocean; somewhere in its waters lies Kong’s Canyon. There’s a large platform on the top of the building, where the dropship rests. There’s a variety of vehicles parked out front.

 

Wraith takes a breath to steady herself. Tomorrow, she will drop into King’s Canyon with her squad, and she will kill others or die. It’s not a comforting thought. But it’s her only choice, and she’ll live with anything if it means finding out who she’s supposed to be.

 

They reach the building. It’s got large metal doors, which Elliott walks up to and tries to poke. He jumps back as they slide open.

 

The facility is bare. The walls are a light gray—too similar to the institution Wraith escaped from for her to be comfortable. They’re in a large room; hallways branch off in each direction, but the one in front of them is behind a desk. A woman sits in the chair.

 

“Do we just… walk up there, or,” Elliott trails off. He and Wraith share a helpless glance. Pathfinder continues walking forward. At the sound of his feet clacking on the floor, the woman looks up.

 

“Hello there!” Pathfinder calls. “We would like to register as a squad for the Apex Games.”

 

“Just your luck,” the woman smiles, typing something into her computer. “You three will make up the last of the contestants needed. We would have run without the whole sixty, of course, but it’s never ideal.”

 

“Wait, that was it?” Elliott asks, blinking. “We just—signed up already?”

 

“I have the three of you registered as a squad and participants,” the woman says. “Now, you can pas through this hallway, where you’ll be able to fill out your profiles.”

 

“Oh,” he replies, rubbing his neck. “Well… alright then.”

 

The three of them walk around the desk and continue through the hallway. A door at the end opens into another room. There’s a door on the other side of the room, and along the walls are some type of terminal.

 

Wraith walks slowly over to one. The screen displays WELCOME. There’s an arrow in the bottom corner. She presses it.

 

CONTESTANT GAME NAME, it reads. She enters in Wraith. As she continues through the questions, however, most of her answers remain blank. When she finally finishes, it displays her results in an official looking page.

 

Wraith

[TO BE DETERMINED]

NAME: Redacted

AGE: Redacted

HOME WORLD: Redacted

ABILITIES: Unknown

 

She presses the arrow again, and the screen begins loading. After a moment, something comes of the terminal from a slot she hadn’t noticed before. It’s a wristband, and after a moment, Wraith puts it on. There’s a small, blue display on one side of it.

 

“Aw, how nice of them,” Elliott comments. “We get free jewelry.”

 

The three of them scan their wristbands at a panel next to the door. When all of them have done so, it slides open, revealing a much larger room full of people.

 

There are couches and chairs located around the room, many of them occupied. At the far end is some type of kitchen, where people grab various things from the cupboards.

 

The people themselves are extremely varied in contrast to the dullness of the rest of the facility. There are many different genders, shapes, and sizes, although Wraith doesn’t see anyone else nonhuman. Pathfinder begins drawing some curious looks as they walk inside.

 

To the left and right are more hallways. She can see doors lining each side of them. People enter and exit them sporadically. They're likely rooms for the fighters to stay in before the Game.

 

“Are we supposed to mingle?” Elliott says contemplatively, glancing around the room. “Because I’m fine with mingling, but I don’t know if you guys are.”

 

“Trying to lose your squad already, eh?” a booming voice says next to them. Wraith turns and spies a giant man in heavy armor walking up to them. He’s almost as tall as Pathfinder; the shield he’s holding is ginormous.

 

“What, these guys? No, they’re great,” Elliott says, turning to face the man as well. “Why, did you get ditched by yours?”

 

The stranger laughs, warm and friendly. “I came here with some of my friends, but they got cold feet at the last second!” he says cheerfully. “I don’t blame them, but I figured some of these poor souls could use the protection of Makoa Gibraltar!”

 

“I’ll say,” Elliott says in wonder, eyeing him up and down.

 

“Hello, Makoa Gibraltar!” Pathfinder interrupts, walking closer. “You are the first contestant we have spoken to. Have you seen my creator?”

 

“Sorry, brother,” Makoa says, shaking his head. “I don’t have any idea who you’re talking about.”

 

“That is okay,” Pathfinder replies, voice a bit quieter. He holds out his hand for Makoa to shake, however. “In that case, we will be fighting each other soon. I will not lose, because losing is not very fun.”

 

“A good attitude!” Makoa laughs, shaking the robot’s grip enthusiastically. He glances over at Wraith, who’s been watching to see if anyone else comes up to them. “And who’s your last friend here, huh?”

 

“Wraith,” she answers. Her eyes flick towards him, and then back away. “We’ll see each other again.”

 

“Right, on the battlefield!” he grins. “We’ll see who comes out on top, eh? Although it might be easier if I can find out where my squad went…”

 

Makoa glances around him, but even with his impressive height, he doesn’t find who he’s looking for. He shakes his head ruefully.

 

“Lone wolves, those two,” he sighs. “Off doing their own things.”

 

“Not to be rude, it’s real great talking to you, Makoa,” Elliott says sheepishly, “but I’m really tired. You know how we can score one of those rooms?”

 

Makoa points to the hallway on the right. Wraith notices it has 31-60 engraved above it.

 

“They go in order of who signed up,” he explains. “Since you guys are the last, you’ll be down there.”

 

“Thank you,” Wraith says quietly, nodding at him. Against her better judgment, she finds herself liking this man. She wants to get away from him as soon as possible. Liking other contestants will only be a problem in battle; they are to be fighting to the death. She can’t think about the type of person they are and face them on the battlefield.

 

Makoa wanders off, claiming he’s going to go find his missing squad mates. Elliott shakes his arms and legs, cracking his neck.

 

“Well, guess we get rooms, which is a bonus,” he notes. “Wanna check ‘em out?”

 

“I am going to ask the other contestants if they know of my creator,” Pathfinder replies. “While it is unlikely they will, there might still be other benefits.”

 

“Alright,” Elliott says, shrugging. He raises an eyebrow at Wraith, who begins walking towards the hallway with their rooms. He’s quiet as they go.

 

“Glad we got out of there before we talked to more people,” he says suddenly, voice quiet. “Mingling isn’t as fun when you realize you have to kill these people.”

 

“Yeah,” Wraith replies softly. She doesn’t look at him. “It’s—hard to think about.”

 

“Do you think you can do it?” Elliott asks. She can feel his gaze. “Kill somebody?”

 

Wraith thinks of an alleyway, desperate fingers around a man’s neck. White walls, her face staring back at her. The familiar feel of a gun beneath her hands.

 

“Yes,” she says evenly.

 

“Guess we’ll see if I can,” he mutters.

 

They reach the end of the hallway. The doors have numbers on them as well, with lights next to the handle. The last three have red lights, while the rest are green.

 

“Three choices is a lot,” Elliott jokes. “You think you can decide what room you want?”

 

She rolls her eyes at him, and enters the door labeled 60.

 

It’s spartan. There’s a bed and not much else. Against the far wall is a screen with the time on it, displaying a feed of updates about the Game.

 

Wraith sits slowly onto the bed. She focuses on breathing evenly.

 

Her response to Elliott had been genuine. She does think she can kill somebody.

 

All Wraith can hope for is that it will be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got my boy gibraltar in there!! can u guess who his squad mates are :3 i’ll give you a hint it’s two other legends and one of them is not the new one. speaking of octane he looks real fun i’ll have to see if i can get him in here somehow. next chap will hopefully have the Actual Game!!!


	7. bloodsport

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY FOR THE WAIT 
> 
> ill ramble all my shit at the end, just will say revised chap 1 a bit/went thru and edited things (you guys are so generous for not mentioning all my grammar errors...) nothing you need to reread for though, basically just changed how the game was described in the first chap; for this fic the games are ~24 hrs, broadcasted live, and between games they show highlights from the match in like a montage or smthing

Wraith wakes up from her sleep still tired. She’s nursing both a headache, and pain from the Void.

 

Her mind had been turning over the thought of the Apex Games, wondering whether she would be able to kill someone to save her own life. Whether she could do it to save her teammate’s lives. On top of that, the Void whispered to her constantly, wanting her to use her powers. As a result of all this, she slept fitfully, and she doesn’t feel well rested in the slightest.

 

She sits on the edge of her bed and curls her fingers, watching her hands. There isn’t any energy sparking up and down her arms yet, but she knows that it’s building. It’s like an ache deep in her chest, a pull trying to get her to do as it wishes. It could not have come at a worse time.

 

The screen on the wall flashes, and Wraith looks over to it. It’s displaying the time, along with a reminder that the Game commences in four hours. She wonders if Elliott will be awake at eight in the morning.

 

_ You are restless. _

 

Wraith sighs, running a hand along her face. “Yes,” she murmurs. “The call you send out doesn’t exactly leave me energized.”

 

There’s a pause.  _ The call will come, _ it answers, sounding almost confused.  _ Use the Void. Use us. _

 

“I can’t just—do that,” she says, frustrated. “There are things I need to do today. I have to fight. Entering the Void makes me weak.”

 

_ Makes you strong, _ the voices counter.  _ You are unseen. The Void guides your steps.  _

 

“If I stay in the Void too long, then I get hurt,” Wraith points out. “It’s too much for me to handle. You’re helpful in small doses.”

 

_ Hurts you, _ it replies thoughtfully.  _ How? You use us, we are used. We are one.  _

 

She rubs at her face again. Trying to explain to the voices in her head why her powers hurt is not how Wraith expected this morning to go.

 

“The energy,” she says patiently, “it keeps... building up. Makes my body feel like it’s burning. When I lay down for a while and ignore it—ignore you—that’s me trying to get past it, because eventually it hurts less. But going into the Void and staying long makes it hurt more.”

 

_ Hurts you, _ the Void repeats. Somehow, she gets the feeling it’s apologetic.  _ Unintended.  _

 

“There isn’t any way for you to not be like this?” Wraith asks. She flops back down in her bed, staring at the ceiling.

 

_ We send out a call, _ it answers.  _ You are who answers. _

 

“Lucky me,” she mutters.

 

_ We must be used, _ it continues.  _ You are the only one who can use us. Keep yourself healthy, and we are kept in use.  _

 

Wraith’s pretty sure this is the longest the Void’s spoken to her. What she isn’t sure of is whether it’s a good thing, or something to be concerned about.

 

“So, you understand that I can’t use it—you—the Void, all the time,” she says cautiously. There’s a moment where the voices are disjointed, chattering to each other, before they unite again.

 

_ Use us. But  _ **_keep_ ** _ using us. _

 

She’ll take that as a yes. 

 

Letting out a small sigh, Wraith rolls onto her side, facing away from the wall. Maybe discussing her powers with the Void would be better at a time when she isn’t hours away from entering a battlefield. 

 

There’s a series of knocks on her door. After a moment, she hears the voice of Pathfinder call out.

 

“Friend Wraith, now is an optimal time for humans to awaken! The facility contains food, which you need to survive.”

 

“Did you get Elliott?” she responds, walking up to open her door. The robot has Elliott slung over his shoulder. His screen displays a happy face. She stares.

 

“Yes!”

 

“Oh my  _ god _ you can put me down now,” Elliott whines, his feet kicking. Wraith fights back a smile.

 

“There is still a possibility that you will retire back to your quarters,” Pathfinder answers, turning to walk down the hallway. She follows him. All the doors have a green light above them, now that they’ve claimed the last three. Wraith doesn’t see anybody else in the hallway with them. “After all, when I first knocked on your door, it took approximately 36 seconds for you to respond.”

 

“That’s a completely normal thing!” Elliott protests. He stares at Wraith pleadingly, but she just smirks at him. He twists to look at the back of Pathfinder’s head. “I mean, you just woke me up! I was in the process of going to the door! You did not have to march in and  _ manhandle me! _ ”

 

“Humans need to sustain themselves every day,” Pathfinder says. “This is the time that average humans wake from their recharge. In order for you to receive your meal, we have to reach the serving area before other humans. You were too slow.”

 

“Am I the only one unsettled by how many times he says humans?” Elliott mutters. He slumps back over Pathfinder in defeat, limbs dangling. Wraith can’t stop herself from letting out a quiet snort at the sight.

 

“Hey, you don’t get to laugh at me!” he says, aghast. “You’re not the one being carried like a sack of potatoes!”

 

“It’s a free ride,” Wraith points out. They’re almost at the large room they had departed from yesterday. She can see a few people mingling on the seats, but for the most part it’s empty. “Now you don’t have to walk and waste all that energy you need recharged.”

 

_ Ally movement. _

 

She stares in confusion at the ground, now at a very different angle. Wraith doesn’t realize what happened until Elliott bursts into laughter next to her.

 

“That is an observation I had not considered, friend Wraith!” Pathfinder says. His voice carries from behind her, since she’s hoisted on his other shoulder and facing behind them. “If I move you two, then that is less of your energy spent. Therefore, you require less time to fill back up to max capacity.”

 

Wraith just sighs. Elliott has devolved into giggles on Pathfinder’s other shoulder. Every time he looks over at her, he breaks into a fresh round of laughter. She rolls her eyes at him, but she can feel a smile pulling at her face, too. The situation is a bit ridiculous. She wonders what this would look like to any of the other contestants if they walked past.

 

“Pathfinder, you won’t always be able to carry us,” Wraith says patiently. “I was joking to Elliott earlier; this much walking doesn’t actually use a lot of energy for us.”

 

They’ve reached the kitchen in the back at this point. Pathfinder bends over and places the two of them on the ground, surprisingly gentle. Elliott skips a few steps away and glares at him.

 

“We are a squad,” Pathfinder argues. “As squadmates, we are meant to take care of each other. Ensuring you are healthy pre-battle helps ensure our chances during battle.”

 

“That’s… actually kinda sweet,” Elliott admits. He starts opening cupboards at random until he finds a bowl. Grabbing a spoon, he jabs it in Pathfinder’s general direction. “But! We don’t need to be carried. Trust me.”

 

Pathfinder’s light blinks on and off. His head tilts to the side as he looks at Elliott. “What actions should I take to help you reach your full potential?”

 

“We’re pretty self sufficient,” comes the dry reply. Elliott has his head buried in a pantry. After a moment, he pulls out a box of cereal. “You can just tell us when we’re being shot at or whatever. And ask us if we need anything, that’s good.”

 

“I will take this into consideration,” Pathfinder announces. He rounds on Wraith. “Friend Wraith, you have been silent so far. Do you agree with the guidelines friend Elliott has stated?”

 

“Uh, yes,” she says blankly. She shakes her head slightly, focusing back on the conversation. “It’s okay to give us things you think we might need, or stuff like that. But we can walk on our own.”

 

“I feel we have reached a new understanding as a squad,” Pathfinder says cheerfully. “An appropriate word to describe this, I believe, is ‘cool’.”

 

Elliott giggles. Pathfinder gives them both a thumbs up. Wraith sighs fondly.

 

_ Contact approaching. _

 

Wraith turns to see the man they’d met yesterday, Makoa, walking towards them. She then does a double take, because next to him is the hunter Bloodhound.

 

“More early risers!” Makoa calls, grinning. He slings an arm around Bloodhound, who gives no reaction. There’s the caw of a bird, and the hunter’s raven flies from somewhere and lands on their shoulder. Bloodhound strokes its head.

 

“Bl-ba-b-bluh,” Elliott stammers. His fingers start to slip from his bowl, and Wraith hastily crosses to grab it from him. She’s staring too, however. Why was Bloodhound here? Surely they weren’t competing in this Game, especially right after winning the last one?

 

“Greetings, Makoa Gibraltar,” Pathfinder says. He looks over at Bloodhound, and the light on his head blinks. “I believe that you are the hunter, Bloodhound, who has won the Apex Games several times.”

 

“Yes.” Wraith hasn’t heard Bloodhound speak before, so she’s slightly startled by their voice. It’s smooth and accented, slightly filtered by the mask. Their raven caws again and looks at her with a beady eye.

 

“You’re Bloodhound,” Elliott repeats, dazed. His mouth is slightly agape as he stares at the hunter. “You’re—you’re  _ Bloodhound. _ Like… Bloodhound-Bloodhound.”

 

“Yes,” Bloodhound repeats. She’s not sure if she’s imagining the hint of amusement in their voice. 

 

“Is it too late to drop out?” Elliott asks bleakly. 

 

“We are all hunters in the ring,” Bloodhound says. “The gods will decide who wins today.”

 

“That’s their way of saying don’t give up, brother!” Makoa laughs, slapping a hand on Elliott’s shoulder. The smaller man just stares in front of him.

 

“Who is the third member of your squad, Makoa Gibraltar?” Pathfinder asks.

 

“Some old fart,” he replies, waving a hand absently. “It seemed like a good idea to let him rest. Me and Bloodhound here woke up early enough for all of us!”

 

“Felagi gets irritated if I do not open the window,” Bloodhound states. Elliott stares at them. 

 

“Are you—are you being serious?” he asks weakly. Felagi lets out a chirp as Bloodhound strokes the bird’s head.

 

“No,” they reply. “Felagi knows how to open the latches.”

 

“Right.” Elliott looks faint. 

 

“Why are you fighting in the Game?” Wraith finally asks. She’s been slightly dazed as well at the entrance of Bloodhound; the hunter is popular because they’d won the Games several times in a row. The chances of her squad winning seem a lot lower. Fear creeps into the edges of her heart. If they don’t do well enough in today’s match, then they won’t get into the respawn system. Wraith will die without having any answers. Her hands clench slightly at her sides. 

 

“I live for the hunt,” Bloodhound answers, head glancing at her. “There is much prey to be found in the Games.”

 

“That’s your only reason?” she presses. 

 

“I do as the Allfather wills,” they say simply. She gives the hunter a short nod.

 

Maybe Bloodhound has experience in the ring, but her purpose isn’t for anyone else—it’s to find out about herself. Wraith  _ will _ learn who she’s supposed to be; the idea of failure is unacceptable. The first thing that she remembers is succumbing to pain. She refuses to let it be the last.

 

“Friend Elliott, I believe your nourishment is entering a state that is not very palatable for humans,” Pathfinder notes. Wraith blinks, remembering the bowl of cereal that she’s holding in her hands.

 

“It already wasn’t very p-pal-pal-good,” Elliott grumbles, swiping the bowl from her and laying it on the counter. He stares at it sulkily. “This is the most off-brand cereal I’ve ever seen. It’s like they took off-brand cereal and then made an off-brand of that.”

 

“That looks like crap,” Makoa agrees, peering curiously at the bowl. He glances over at Bloodhound. “What’s on your menu? Do you want to eat with us?”

 

“I thank you, but we prepare our own meals,” the hunter replies, petting Felagi. “We must pay respect to all that has given life for ours.”

 

“I have determined that these grain cubes are not the healthiest way to break your fast,” Pathfinder announces from where he’d been investigating the cereal box. He walks over to the pantry and begins grabbing things from the shelves. After a moment, he then goes to a door that Wraith realizes is apparently a fridge, and grabs a carton of eggs and packages of meat. When he’s done, there’s various ingredients and utensils laying on the counter.

 

“Humans need a variety of proteins, because they are not entirely self-sufficient,” he explains. He grabs a bowl, pours flour from the bag into it, and begins mixing it. “I will create a nutritional meal for you to eat, friend Elliott, friend Wraith.”

 

“So you’ll make me breakfast but you won’t let me walk out of my room?” Elliott asks, disbelieving. Wraith goes to sit next to him on the counter, watching the robot work. She isn’t entirely sure what he’s making, but his movements are extremely precise.

 

“This falls under the category of ‘giving you things you might need,’ as friend Wraith stated,” Pathfinder replies. “Carrying you to this room was before we established our boundaries. I now know how to better assist you.”

 

“Now this is a great plan!” Makoa exclaims. He grabs the packet of meat and turns the dial on the stove. “We can have a big breakfast, really come together! We’ll be fighting soon, but who’s to say we can’t be friendly ‘til then?”

 

“What are the benefits of you eating with us?” Pathfinder questions. He’s still stirring into the bowl, but he’s turned around to watch Makoa at the stove. The larger man gives a little hum as he thinks.

 

“I’m a friendly guy, brother,” he says. “I look out for people. It’s what I do. Maybe today we’re fighting, but tomorrow, we could be on the same team.”

 

“It is unlikely that there will be another Apex Game tomorrow,” the robot points out. Makoa laughs.

 

“You’ve got a point there!” he answers, whistling as he puts food in pans. “I just mean that we don’t have to be harsh to each other. It’s okay to get attached to people once in a while, you know?”

 

“But why?” Wraith blurts out. She curls into herself slightly when Makoa turns back to glance at her curiously. 

 

“Why what?” he calls, flipping something. “Get attached?”

 

“Yes,” she says, frowning. “It’s possible that I’ll have to kill you. Or you’ll have to kill me, or Pathfinder, or any of us. Then, if we assume we all make it out of the ring, we could die for some other reason. Why bother?”

 

“Because that’s life, sister,” Makoa says gently. He grabs a large plate from the cupboards and places it next to the stove. The meat sizzles as he slides it off the pan and arranges it on the plate. “We get close to people. Sometimes they leave us, but we have to hold on to the moments we had with them.”

 

He places the platter in front of her and Elliott. The strips of meat Makoa had been cooking are in a shape vaguely resembling a smiley face. She stares at it.

 

“Back home,” Makoa continues, “me and my boyfriend, we got in an accident. Coulda been real bad if my pa didn’t help us. After that, we were all real scared we’d lose each other.”

 

“What did you do?” she asks quietly, not looking at him.

 

“I realized that we gotta appreciate the time we had together,” he says. “I want to protect him, and everyone else I can. But if I’m gonna die, I don’t want to go regretting the time I didn’t have. I want to think about the time I did.”

 

Elliott reaches out and takes a piece of food. Glancing over at him, Wraith can see that his eyes are distant. He doesn’t eat, just holds the strip limply in his hands.

 

“The time we did have, huh,” he mutters. Absently, he takes a bite.

 

She bites her lip, looking back down at the table. What Makoa said had obviously resonated with Elliott, the idea of treasuring time they had together with loved ones. But… Wraith doesn’t have any. She has no loved ones, or happier times. She just has herself.

 

Getting attached to these people before the Games is unwise. She can have friends once she figures out who she is. Until then, Wraith remains alone.

 

With this thought, she takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. She has to remember what her goals are. Wraith is entering this Game to discover information about her past. Her interactions with everyone here, especially Pathfinder and Elliott—she worries she’s gotten too close. That includes Anita and Ajay, too. 

 

Get her memories back, Wraith tells herself. If she gets them back, then she can be with them. 

 

The Void grows louder in the back of her mind. It’s an unintelligible hum as usual, beginning to give her a headache. This, too, is something else she had forgotten about. Hearing these voices in her head, having interdimensional powers, isn’t something that’s normal. She doesn’t know if discovering her past will make the Void go away, but hopefully, with her memories, Wraith can pretend that she’s a normal person.

 

“What do we have to do before we enter the Game?” she asks, turning to Bloodhound. Elliott makes some joke about whatever Pathfinder’s doing, and Makoa laughs at it. She forces her attention to the hunter. She can’t be distracted by the other people around her.

 

“In the half hour before the Game, they will outfit us with our jump boosters,” they answer. Felagi shifts on their shoulder, looking at her again. “They also will give us packs with basic supplies. We go out to the front entrance, the one you came from. The hallways lead us to our destination.”

 

Wraith glances around, and finds a screen displaying the time on the other side of the room. She squints, then turns back to Bloodhound. 

 

“So we have three and a half hours until then.” They nod in response. She hears Elliott break into laughter over something that she missed. Wraith gets off her stool and pushes back from the counter.

 

“I’m going to go train,” she says flatly. Before she can see how everyone reacts, Wraith turns around and walks away.

 

* * *

 

Finding the training room isn’t hard. The woman at the desk from before isn’t there when she walks by, so Wraith goes through the hallway on her left. The lights are a harsh white above her. It’s short; there’s a door at the end with another panel, which opens when she holds her wristband up to it.

 

Target dummies rest against the far wall. Next to the door are lockers. When she opens one, Wraith finds a row of guns staring back at her. Her eyes scan them for distinguishing features. In a second, she recognizes them as assault rifles: there’s an R-301, Hemlok, Flatline, and a Havoc. Picking up the Hemlok, her hands run over the weapon. It feels wrong. Lighter than it should be, and she knows what a Hemlok should feel like. It’s been ingrained in her. Absently popping out the magazine, she recognizes the bullets as a modified form of rubber. They’re designed for training accuracy. They stimulate the ammo type used by the gun, but cause little to no harm to live targets if they’re hit.

 

She blinks at the disassembled rifle in her hands. Wraith takes in an unsteady breath, and slowly puts the weapon back together.

 

It’s worrying how natural it feels to bear a gun. Worrying how easily this information comes to her. Nothing else has given her these types of reactions, besides weapons. 

 

Wraith slowly sets the Hemlok back in the locker. She doesn’t feel like training anymore.

 

Wandering back through the door, she walks to the hallway that’s on the other side of the room. There’s another scanner as before. This room, however, is much larger.

 

There are many benches in the middle. Along the walls lie enormous pieces of technology that Wraith assumes are the jump packs. They have straps, and jets on the bottom. There looks to be sixty all in all, two rows of fifteen on both sides.

 

On the far wall is a large monitor, displaying the same information as the one in her room. To the right and left are double doors, both with panels. She can’t see where they go to.

 

Nobody else is in the room. There are more harsh lights along the ceiling. Orange accents dot the room. It’s bright, mostly white walls and panelled flooring. She takes a deep breath at the sight of them, but she’s unsettled anyway. 

 

Wraith knows that she isn’t back in the facility. She’s here, in an Apex Game lounge, waiting to participate with her squad. The differences between this room and the one she was held in are endless. It’s much bigger, there are no mirrors, and there isn’t any padding. Her breathing still turns shaky.

 

_ Leave, _ she hears. The Void is quiet, almost soothing, a unified voice guiding her.  _ Through the doors. Escape again. _

 

Slowly, she takes one step after another. Her eyes stay focused on the double doors she’s heading to. They’re something she can orient herself around. There weren’t any doors in the facility. She isn’t back there. She  _ isn’t. _

 

With a gasp, she thrusts her wrist against the panel. The door slides open, and she staggers through, collapsing on the opposite wall. It closes quietly.

 

She breathes in short pants, letting her head thunk against the wall behind her. Her eyes stare unfocused at the ceiling.

 

_ You are safe. _

 

Her hands clench at her sides. She forces herself to take a deep breath. Wraith drops her forehead to her knees, looking at the ground. The floor here is a steel gray, slightly cold. She doesn’t know what it’s made of, but she also doesn’t care. It’s different from the floor she’s escaped from. It’s a reminder.

 

Wraith isn’t sure how long she stays slumped on the floor. Time felt hazy. She would focus on the floor, or the ceiling, and tell herself how it is different from the facility. But then she would catch a glimpse of the white walls through the doors, and she would get set off again, having to steady her breathing.

 

Eventually, she’s able to look up at the door. Her heart races slightly, but she keeps taking even breaths. Wraith forces herself to stand up. She feels slightly unsteady, but she’s up again. She isn’t trapped.

 

She narrows her eyes at the doors. Wraith is  _ never _ going back to that facility. She will die before that happens. And she won’t let walls stop her from finding answers.

 

Wraith shoves the door open.

 

It’s as empty as it was before. The walls are almost blinding under the fluorescent lighting. But this time, she’s able to focus on the differences between it and the facility that she had noticed earlier. There are spots of color, the orange running in stripes along the walls. The white is just the slightest bit off color, a very light gray. This room also has a clear purpose, with the jump packs on the edges; it isn’t just something made to contain her.

 

Her breathing evens out. She closes her eyes, and when she reopens them, it’s the same room in front of her.

 

**_Safe,_ ** she hears. Wraith can believe it easier, this time.

 

She squares her shoulders. There isn’t much to do in this room until the contestants officially get their gear. Since she still doesn’t feel like training, and socializing with the others would be a mistake, she figures the only thing left for her to do is explore.

 

Wraith walks back out the door. Absently, she thinks that it’s a good thing nobody else was in the room with her—they would have just watched her cross it, exit the door, reappear, and leave once more.

 

To the right of the door is a staircase going up to a second story. When she reaches the top of it, she can see that the other door in the room connects to it as well. They meet up to another double door that goes outside, with yet another panel.

 

The space is covered by the drop ship used in the Games. All of its doors are closed. She has no real desire to mess with the ship, and she doesn’t want to somehow get disqualified by tampering with it, so she walks to the edge of the roof.

 

Everything smells like salt. Wraith hadn’t noticed the scent before when she first walked to this building. It’s fairly close to the cliff’s edge. She can see the water stretching out to the horizon. The cliffs continue to the left and right, but for the most part, it’s all ocean. She thinks she can just make out the edges of an island in the distance, likely where King’s Canyon is.

 

She sits on the edge of the roof, legs dangling. It’s nice. Calm. She finds it ironic that the most peaceful place she’s found is one miles from a battlefield. Then again, parts of her seem like they were built for fighting. Maybe it’s the only thing she’s supposed to know.

 

Wraith sighs. Up above, birds cry at each other, and swoop through the skies. 

 

She just wants to know who she is. 

 

Her fingers curl around the roof. Even though the only thing that feels familiar to her is weapons...it’s impossible for that to be all she knows. Perhaps if she gets her memories back—when she gets her memories back, then everything else will come with it, too. Maybe Wraith can remember how to use a gun because her body is used to the motions. If the IMC did something to get rid of her memories, then surely they can do something to bring them back?

 

People aren’t just weapons, Wraith tells herself. Knowing how to use a gun doesn’t mean that’s all she is. She just has to get the rest of her knowledge back.

 

A loud announcement blares from speakers that she can’t see.  _ “Contestants, please head to the equipment room. Fittings for jump packs will begin in five minutes. The Game will begin in thirty five minutes.” _

 

She slowly makes her way through the door and back down the steps. Even though the announcement just happened, there’s already a good amount of people inside the room. She doesn’t recognize any, or particularly care about the rest of the fighters. She can’t care about them. Her focus has to be on herself.

 

The five minutes pass in no time at all, until the room is filled. There isn’t anything said about whether the contestants should get in their squads or not, so Wraith opts to remain in the corner. After a moment, people in generic orange and white suits begin herding everyone to the jump packs. 

 

The device is rather intuitive. One of the staff explains to her how it works as they check to make sure it’s secured properly. It will allow her to guide her drop from the airship, and it regulates pressure to let her fall safely from lethal heights. It can be synced with her squad so that they drop together. They also give her a comms device. When she wants to speak to her team, she holds the button near her ear and talks into it. There isn’t any way to have a private conversation and prevent other teams from hearing them, but the devices can work across the entire map. They also give her a bag that rests on top of the pack, with some food rations, water, and a blanket.

 

Her and the rest of the contestants are pushed out to the stairs. The employees use their wristband, which keeps the doors open for everyone to head through. Inside the dropship, there are rows of seats all labeled 1-60. She makes her way to the end and waits for her squad to arrive.

 

Elliott gets there first. He looks nervous as he glances around at the other fighters, some of which push him roughly. He jumps into his seat, but his expression lights up when he notices she’s next to him.

 

“Hey, fancy seeing you here,” Elliott says, giving her a shaky grin. His eyebrows furrow for a second as his face turns more concerned. “Where have you been? I waited about an hour after you left, ‘cause I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be alone or not, but then I couldn’t find you.”

 

Wraith bites back the teasing comment that comes to mind about how bad Elliott is at tracking—there were two hallways leading off the main room, and he only checked one. She keeps her gaze straight ahead of her.

 

“I did want to be alone,” she says shortly. 

 

“Oh,” he replies awkwardly. “Well… d’you want to, I don’t know, talk about it? I mean—“

 

Suddenly, they hear a “Greetings, friend Elliott, friend Wraith,” and then Pathfinder is sitting his spindly legs into seat 58. She’s grateful for the interruption. “We will be departing shortly.”

 

“God, don’t remind me,” Elliott mutters. He clasps his hands together in his lap and stares at them, knees bouncing. “I’m not even going to look at everyone else in this ship, I don’t want to think about how bad we’re gonna get smashed.”

 

“You will have to be fighting them very soon,” Pathfinder points out. “In fact, the first time you see them, one of you could die, and then it will be the last time you see them.”

 

“Yeah, remember how we talked about normal human things that normal humans do?” Elliott replies faintly. “Ignoring our problems until we absolutely have to is one of them.”

 

“That is not very logical.”

 

“We are going to win,” Wraith interrupts. She can feel Elliott look at her, but she doesn’t turn to face him. “Or, we will earn second. We’ll get popular enough that people want us in the respawn system, and then we will do this again. Don’t think too much.”

 

“I wasn’t expecting you to be the one mo-moti-motiv-telling me to cheer up,” he replies, but his voice sounds more steady. “Good thing we all got each other, huh?”

 

She doesn’t say anything to that. Thankfully, before Elliott’s confused state can turn into probing questions, a screen in the back of the ship lights up. It’s displaying a map of King’s Canyon, along with the hot zone, supply ship, and the drop ship’s path. Currently, it’s traveling south from the Water Treatment, and up to the Relay.

 

“Where should we drop?” Wraith asks, changing the subject. 

 

“It is unlikely that we will survive long if we drop immediately,” Pathfinder says, voice quiet. She realizes that the other squads on the ship are talking to each other, too. They have an advantage, since they’re in the end of the ship, but it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. “We should go to an area that will allow us to gear ourselves sufficiently, but will not have many hostiles.”

 

“There’s definitely some places people go to a lot,” Elliott says. He begins to gesture at the map, but after glancing at the squads around them, he forces his hands to be still. “The hot zone is—well, hot. Looks like it’s over by Skulltown, ew. Water Treatment might be popular, because it’s the first place you can land. Repulsor, Relay, and Artillery have good loot, and they’re on the path, so people will probably go there. I bet a lot will split off over to the Bunker and the Market, too.”

 

“What about in the corner, then? Slum Lakes?” she asks, tilting her head at the map. “Should be large enough for all of us to get gear, and it’s out of the way of the drop ship’s path.”

 

“Landing there will be tricky,” he replies doubtfully.  “It’s pretty far. I don’t know if we can make it there on our first time jumping.”

 

“If I take the role of ‘Jumpmaster,’ I can calculate the trajectory needed to land myself there, and you may both sync to me,” Pathfinder chimes in. He gives them a thumbs up. “I believe I am much better at math than you.”

 

“Hey, no need to rub it in,” Elliott grumbles.

 

“Pay attention,” Wraith shushes, staring at the screen. “It says we’re dropping in thirty.”

 

“How are we only thirty seconds away?” he gasps, looking nauseous. “I thought we had ten minutes!”

 

“Time has passed, friend Elliott,” Pathfinder says. He raises an arm and pats it twice against Elliott’s shoulder. While Elliott stares at him, the robot flicks a signal on his jump pack. Wraith does the same to hers; both of them are now synced up to Pathfinder, and will follow his drop path.

 

“Since we are dropping later, I do not think we have to fight our way to the front of the dropship,” the robot notes. At that, Wraith glances at the other contestants around them. Many of them are pushing each other out of the way as they try to get to the edge of the door. She can’t see Makoa or Bloodhound anywhere.

 

Wraith forces herself to breathe evenly. She unbuckles herself from her seat, then after seeing him paralyzed, unbuckles Elliott’s as well. 

 

“You’ve seen how these Games go,” she mutters to him. “You know what to do. We’ll be fine.”

 

“There’s a lot of, y’know, cameras floating around,” he babbles. The three of them stand up as people in front of them begin dropping. “Gonna have a lot of eyes on me, for once. Oh my god, is my hair okay? Why did I do this, Wraith, I can’t do th- _ oh my god! _ ”

 

“It is time, friends!” Pathfinder yells cheerfully, as they all plummet to the ground. Elliott screams hysterically. Wraith forces herself to look down.

 

They aren’t diving straight down; if they were, she’s sure the experience would be much worse. As of now, there’s a nice view of King’s Canyon below them. Squads fall to different locations, colorful trails behind them. She notes that there are, thankfully, no other squads heading to Slum Lakes.

 

Their angle remains mostly horizontal, as Pathfinder is going for distance, not speed. Elliott’s scream soon turns into an excited whoop as they fly through the air. For her own part, Wraith is breathing a little quickly, but the experience isn’t too bad.

 

“Since we are the only squad at this destination,” Pathfinder yells, “I recommend splitting up our landing zones!”

 

“I’ll go in the back!” Wraith shouts back, pointing to the other side of town. Elliott shoots them a grin and flies on his own to the middle part of town.

 

The jump pack seems to orient her on its own, guiding Wraith to a stop in front of a building. She doesn’t feel any pain or discomfort from the long distance, so there’s some confirmation that they’re working properly. She begins moving through the room.

 

Looting doesn’t take very long, since the three of them are undisturbed by other squads. The white armor she picks up seems to ripple over her body, before turning transparent. As if to spite her, the first weapon she finds is a Hemlok, which Wraith takes with pursed lips. All the ammo she finds for it gets shoved into the side pockets on her bag, where she can still reach it easily.

 

“Hey, guys,” Elliott’s voice says over her comms. He sounds like he’s about to start giggling. “Mozambique here.”

 

“Please tell me that’s not the only gun you’ve found,” she replies despairingly. He bursts into laughter.

 

“C’mon, what else—what else do I need?” he wheezes. 

 

“We should start moving, if we got everything here,” Wraith settles on, ignoring him. “Pathfinder? What’s your status?”

 

“I have located a Longbow DMR and an R-99,” the robot answers cheerfully. “While there were many cartridges of light ammo nearby, I have not found as much heavy ammo. Please notify me if you find any extra.”

 

“I’ve got a Hemlok right now,” she says, moving through another room. Her foot knocks against something, and she looks down. There’s a small P2020 resting on the floor, two ammo boxes scattered next to it. She picks it up and slips it into her pocket, its weight familiar. “And a pistol.”

 

“Mozambique’s a pistol, you know,” Elliott chimes in. He sounds back to normal. “Think I’ll be good with that, plus this Peacekeeper I just found?”

 

“We’ll be sticking together as we move out,” Wraith says thoughtfully. “Pathfinder, if we can find a scope for you, then you can scout out distant targets we might be able to track. Otherwise, we should stick to close quarters.”

 

“There is an antenna nearby,” Pathfinder says. “I can grapple to its location, and gain information on the ring.”

 

“Is that legal?” Elliott mutters.

 

“There were no rules saying I could not link into the Canyon’s systems. Also, the ring will cut off areas like Skulltown and Water Treatment.”

 

“There’s a wait of like twelve hours before the ring starts closing,” Elliott says after a thoughtful pause. “So we can probably hike over to the Pit, see if we can get anything, and then maybe we’ll find a spot we can stay at.”

 

Wraith wracks her brain to when they were falling from the dropship. None of the squads seemed like they had been heading to the northwest corner of the map. Possibly one had headed to the Air Base, but many this time went to Skull Town or the Hydro Dam. They could run into people coming up from the south if they went to the Pit. If they kept heading east, then they’d likely run into people geared up from the Artillery Base.

 

“The Pit is a good idea,” she settles on, as the three of them meet at the edge of town. “It’s close, and it will hopefully have better gear for us. Then we can try to avoid people.”

 

“I will deploy a zipline for us!” Pathfinder says cheerfully. He pulls out his zipline gun, and with a smooth motion, fires it up the hill leading to the Pit. Wraith thinks that it’s a distance they could have easily walked, but since Elliott is already yelling with excitement as he glides across, she doesn’t bother saying anything. Pathfinder pulls the length of rope back down to take with him. The three of them move quickly into the cavern.

 

“So, how are we deciding who gets what?” Elliott says conversationally. “Because I see a purple body armor over there that looks real nice.”

 

“Is it actually just called ‘purple body armor’?” Wraith asks, frowning. She tosses some heavy ammo clips to Pathfinder, and keeps the rest to herself. There’s a lot of ammo types here, but either the supply crates were rigged or she’s unlucky; she doesn’t find a gun to replace her P2020 with. Finding an extended light mag, she resigns herself to using it for the match.

 

“It’s purple, and it’s body armor,” Elliott replies, shrugging. “What else would you call it?”

 

“I have located a 6x optic for my Longbow,” Pathfinder interrupts. “There is also a level two body shield here. It would be logical for me to get the level three shield, because I am the easiest to hit, and Wraith to get the level two shield, because Mirage has his clones for evasion.”

 

She hears the Void chatter louder in the back of her mind. She thinks of a time when she was fighting desperately, with its powers there to guide and protect her. It feels like the energy’s dancing at her fingertips, even though it isn’t there when she glances at her hands. With a single motion, she could travel to another dimension. A place where bullets can’t reach her.

 

“Ell—Mirage should get the shield,” Wraith says uneasily. “I’m—a small target. And fast.”

 

“You sure?” Elliott asks, tone light. She can hear worry underneath it. 

 

Wraith can take care of herself. She has the Void. It’s the logical decision to make sure that her squad is well equipped, so that they don’t drag her down.

 

“Yes.” Her voice is cold. Elliott doesn’t seem to know how to respond, glancing at her repeatedly. He takes the armor.

 

They head outside of the Pit, taking everything that they needed. She hears very faint gunshots, but it’s impossible to tell how many of the fighters have fallen. There’s a small complex south of the Pit that they enter. Pathfinder says that it won’t be in the next ring, but they still have about eleven hours until it starts closing. She isn’t sure how wise waiting is.

 

“You think they got cameras in these rooms?” Elliott asks curiously. He struts about, peering at the walls. Wraith glances at him, then goes back to keeping watch at the window. “Or do you think they’re all buried in the canyon walls or something?”

 

“There are likely many unseen recording devices,” Pathfinder responds. “Cameras can be very small. The chances of contestants searching the walls to destroy them are also low.”

 

“Maybe there’s one right… here,” Elliott declares. He stands in a corner and winks at it, shooting finger guns. “Mirage here, right in front of ya. Hope you’re all ready for a great time.”

 

“You should focus,” Wraith advises. She’s looking intently at the desert; without any scopes, it’s hard to see. If there are any people out there, they’ll be hard to spot, and she doesn’t want to be caught off guard.

 

“I am focusing,” Elliott argues. “Focusing on my image. This face is gonna be plastered on the walls, you’ll see.” 

 

“Sometimes they display banners of fallen combatants,” Pathfinder says. His head tilts at Elliott. “Are you saying that your death will be advertised?”

 

“What? No!” Elliott answers, aghast. He begins pacing back and forth, gesturing with his hands. “I mean I’m gonna do so great, that there’ll be posters. Signs. Maybe even merchandise! What do you think, Wraith? Would you buy a plushie of this?”

 

There’s movement on the horizon. She doesn’t answer Elliott.

 

“Pathfinder,” she orders, “come here. Use your scope. Do you see anything over there?”

 

The robot comes and squats carefully next to her. His Longbow balances out the window as he peers through the lens.

 

“There is someone going to the Bunker,” he answers. After a moment, he adds, “Their squad has joined them. There are three people going to the Bunker.”

 

“Should we go after them?” Wraith questions. Pathfinder’s light blinks on and off as he thinks.

 

“I think we should,” Elliott interrupts. She turns to him, expecting him to make another joke about getting glory, but he looks thoughtful as well. “Either people landed at Bunker, so the place is empty and they won’t get anything, or they’ll be squabbling over gear and we might catch them off guard.”

 

He gives her a small, uneasy smile. “Or, y’know, they could demolish us with all the stuff they pick up. But that’s worst case, right?”

 

“That is a reasonable decision,” Pathfinder agrees. “Also, I do not know if either of you have been in live combat before. If we are planning on winning, then it will be good to practice fighting before everyone else is dead.”

 

“Let’s move out then,” Wraith says decisively. “Stay low. We’re going to be pretty open crossing the desert. Be quick, but be smart; we’ll plan more when we reach the Bunker doors.”

 

She slips out the window, landing with a small thump on the ground. Pathfinder looks down at her.

 

“I could deploy a zipline for us,” he offers. Wraith thinks for a moment, then shakes her head.

 

“I think the zipline’s good for catching people off guard,” she replies. “We’re trying to be unnoticed right now. The three of us flying across the desert might draw attention we don’t want.”

 

“Aw, but walking is so lame,” Elliott whines as he drops next to her. Pathfinder follows. Wraith begins leading the way as she moves smoothly across the desert.

 

Her eyes scan everywhere in front of her. She feels bare, as if anything could happen to her. She doesn’t like this, the feeling that she’s being—watched. But the Void isn’t any louder than it usually is. If she was in danger, surely it would give her warning.

 

In the distance, she sees the Bunker doors open, and then close. They’re about halfway there by now. When she glances behind her, Pathfinder and Elliott are keeping pace, both of them looking attentively around them.

 

Wraith leans against the side of the Bunker. Peering in through the window reveals nothing. She glances back at her team again; Elliott gives her a weak smile, Pathfinder a thumbs up. She takes a deep breath, and presses the panel in the middle of the doors.

 

They slide open. She winces at the noise. Inside the Bunker, she hears arguing voices. They don’t stop or seem to change when the door opens. Moving slowly, Wraith creeps to the corner. She peers around.

 

Two men are yelling at each other by the stairs. A third one is leaning against one of the doors, looking bored. There’s nothing that distinguishes them to her. All of them have weapons, but she can’t tell what armor they have.

 

Elliott taps her shoulder. She leans back and looks at him. He gives her a wink.

 

An Elliott walks past her, whistling as he struts through the hall. The voices turned confused. In seconds, gunfire is shooting at the figure.

 

Beside her, Elliott counts down on his fingers. When he reaches one, a loud explosion goes off.

 

At the first cry of pain, Wraith whips out her Hemlok and turns the corner. Elliott’s decoy has disappeared. A frag grenade went off in the middle of the group; the man against the door is yelling, the one to the left has lost a leg, and the one to the right appears unharmed. She focuses.

 

Inhale. Pull. Exhale.

 

A burst goes through the head of the man at the door, and he falls. Her gun is already moving to the one maimed, firing two more bursts into his chest. He falls as well. One more flares against the man standing, revealing a flash of purple, and Wraith ducks back around the corner.

 

In the next second, Elliott is running past her, sliding onto the floor. He fires his Peacekeeper directly into the man’s chest. As the man bends over in pain, Elliott ducks behind him. At least, another one does. The man turns around and fires at the Elliott that just went behind him, but as it’s falling down and bleeding, the real Elliott fires again into his back. With one more shot, the man falls over, and doesn’t move again.

 

Silence falls in the hallway. Elliott is breathing heavily, his back to her. She walks slowly to stand next to him.

 

The three bodies bleed steadily onto the floor. Now that she’s further in the hallway, Wraith sees older bloodstains and more corpses inside the rooms. 

 

“Well,” Elliott gasps. He leans onto his knees, breathing faster. “That’s—I just—well. Did that.”

 

There’s nothing recognizable about the first man she shot. His face is a gory mess. She stares at it for so long that the sight of it starts to swim in her vision.

 

“That was well executed!” Pathfinder suddenly exclaims. Both her and Elliott jump violently, turning around to face the robot. He comes closer and pats them both on the shoulder. “Throwing a grenade while they were distracted by your decoy was very clever.”

 

“Oh, you know,” Elliott says vaguely. He looks sick. He opens his mouth again as if to say something, but he looks at the body below him and shuts it.

 

“If we can find shield cells, then this level three body shield will be beneficial,” Pathfinder continues, kicking lightly at the man Elliott killed.

 

“Oh, god, we’re gonna loot his body,” Elliott mutters. He begins pacing, hands resting against his forehead. “I—I just killed that guy, and we killed his friends, and now we’re gonna take stuff from his corpse. The corpse that I made. Because I killed him. Oh my god.”

 

Wraith’s eyes drift down. Beneath the blood, she can see an insignia, IMC written below it. Her face hardens.

 

“We will likely be looting other bodies, as well,” Pathfinder says. “But, we have successfully survived our first encounter. I believe an encouraging thing to say is ‘Go, team!’”

 

Elliott snorts, and then suddenly he’s laughing hysterically. He staggers over to the wall, leaning against it. His laughter quickly turns into hiccuping sobs.

 

“Elliott,” Wraith says, walking over to him. She places her hands on his shoulders until he looks at her. His eyes are watery, panicked.

 

“Take a breath,” she advises. He gulps in air, sniffling, until eventually it evens out. He searches her face frantically.

 

“We didn’t know these people,” Wraith continues. “Maybe they were good—” her eyes dart to the IMC logo, “—maybe they were bad. But now they’re gone. We made our choices, and now we live with them.”

 

“I made the choice to kill a guy,” Elliott argues. 

 

“He made the choice to enter a fight where he could get killed,” she retorts. “Everyone is in the Game for a reason. Everyone signed up knowing what could happen. Death is inevitable.”

 

“Still,” he mutters. “I just took someone’s life.”

 

“Think of it this way,” Wraith tries. “Pathfinder joined the Game to look for his creator. I…” She sucks in a breath, then keeps going.

 

“I joined the Game to search for answers,” she settles on. “Maybe you ended that guy’s life, but now we’re one step closer to finding ours.”

 

“What answers are you looking for?” he asks softly. She bites her lip.

 

“I—”

 

_ They’re coming.  _ **_Move!_ **

 

“Go!” Wraith shouts, shoving Elliott towards the stairs. He sputters, confused, but with another shove he’s forced to move or fall. Pathfinder’s steps sound on the metal behind them.

 

“What the hell, Wraith?!” Elliott yells, as she runs down the steps two at a time. She ignores him, trying to focus. Every sense she has is on alert, screaming danger; the problem is figuring out where it’s coming from.

 

Her eyes scan the Bunker’s hallways. Nothing in front of them besides dried bloodstains. People haven’t been here since the beginning of the match. That meant they have to be coming from behind.

 

Wraith hears a grenade explode above them. She didn’t even hear the doors open.

 

“We have enemies after us,” Pathfinder intones. The three of them round the corner at the end of the hallway, Wraith looking warily back at the stairs. Elliott’s next to her, reloading his Peacekeeper.

 

“I don’t know when they showed up,” she mutters. The Void grows louder, trying to tell her several things at once. She tries to focus on it.

 

_ Spotted you, watched you. Planned. This time, you moved fast enough. _

 

“Mirage, you should watch the other entrance,” Pathfinder advises. “Since you have close combat weapons, you will only be effective if the enemy team comes charging down the stairs, which is highly unlikely.”

 

“I think you give some of these people too much credit,” Elliott replies, as two fighters come skidding down the stairs. Wraith unloads her Hemlok into one of them, and he drops to the floor. Pathfinder does the same with his R-99, and with both of them down, the Void settles. She blinks. There are timelines where she died to  _ that? _

 

“That wasn’t very smart,” Pathfinder observes.

 

“What were they even planning?” Wraith says, disbelieving. She reloads another clip into her Hemlok. It was like they hadn’t even tried at all. Surely, if they were in the Games for a reason, then they would have fought harder. If people weren’t going to give their all in the Games, weren’t trying to  _ earn _ something… then she shouldn’t feel guilty about killing them.

 

“Well, that’s another two down, I suppose,” Elliott mutters. Pathfinder stands up from his crouch by the two bodies, proudly showing off two frag grenades. He puts them in his bag.

 

“We should keep moving,” Wraith advises. “Since we just had two fights, that might draw a lot of attention we don’t want.”

 

“At this rate, the ring won’t even move before the Game’s over,” Elliott jokes. His voice is a little flat, and he falls silent again, eyeing the bodies on the floor. She debates for a moment, and then slowly reaches out to pat him on the shoulder. 

 

“Let’s keep moving,” she repeats quietly. Wraith continues moving before Elliott can really look at her. This doesn’t count as getting close, she tells herself. It’s making sure her squad mate performs at his best. That way, she’s one step closer to winning this Game.

 

“We have approximately eleven hours before the ring is in its next stage,” Pathfinder interrupts. “Once we exit the Bunker, we will be out in the open. This location is quite close to the center of the island, so we could be approached by any angle.”

 

“Mirage, you know the map better than I do,” she says, peering out the Bunker’s sliding doors. “Is there somewhere small we could go? Covered, preferably, where we could wait for the ring to shrink?”

 

“Uhh, maybe?” Elliott responds. “There’s a bunch of, like, houses outside. Across the river is this little crevice… ravine thing-y. I think the problem will be getting there, we’ll be pretty exposed.”

 

“If we’re going to be exposed regardless, maybe we should move quickly,” Wraith says, looking significantly at Pathfinder. The robot gives her a thumbs up. She slides open the doors and darts next to a small ledge for cover, eyeing her surroundings.

 

“Who’s ready to fly on a zipline?” Pathfinder calls cheerfully. He carefully aims above the buildings, and fires a line that ends near a small path into the rocks. “I am!”

 

“I wonder…” Elliott says thoughtfully, watching the robot cross the river. He points at the zipline, and a decoy starts walking towards it. The fake Elliott keeps walking until it hits a wall, and then disappears. He hums.

 

“Thinking you could get it to go on the line?” she guesses. He nods, tapping a finger against his chin. 

 

“Could be useful,” he says. “I’ll mess with it later. In the meantime…”

 

He gives her a wide grin. Running backwards, he jumps up onto the line, spreading his arms wide. Attaching onto the zipline, he flies away from her. Rolling her eyes, Wraith follows.

 

After Pathfinder grabs his rope, they enter the ravine. The rock around them shoots straight up, creating narrow pathways. She doesn’t like being boxed in like this. There are a total of three entrances into the ravine; it’s not something she can guard herself.

 

_ Three entrances, three teammates, _ Wraith hears. She ignores it.

 

“How good are you guys at rock climbing?” Elliott asks, looking up. There are small ledges above them, with good sight on two of the entrances. It’s blocked off from the third. It’s a perfect spot for lying in wait.

 

Eyes darting between footholds, Wraith quickly hauls herself up to the ledge. She nods in satisfaction once she’s up. Elliott’s chosen well.

 

“There are some crates in the middle,” she calls, watching the entrances to the ravine. “Open them; I’ll keep watch, then you two come up here.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Elliott replies, giving her a salute. He walks in a way that she can only describe as a saunter to the center of the ravine. His shoulders quickly slump with disappointment after he and Pathfinder have opened all the crates. Unsurprisingly, there isn’t any high level gear in them. They do all have a comfortable supply of ammo now, however, as well as a variety of grenades. She’ll take that over Elliott’s pouting.

 

“So…” Elliott says conversationally, once all of them are up on the ledge. They each are watching one of the entrances, although Wraith still keeps glancing back and forth between the three. It’s apparently the perfect time for Elliott to start being himself.

 

“Yes?” she answers tersely.

 

“You never said what answers you were looking for.” Her hands fidget around the grip of her Hemlok.

 

“Does it matter?” Wraith says, keeping her voice blank.

 

“To you, it does,” Elliott responds. She stills. That… isn’t the answer she was expecting. “I mean, we’ve both been hauled around by a robot, and we just killed some dudes together, like, twenty minutes ago. Are we not at the secret-sharing stage yet?”

 

“I…” She huffs, frustrated. Elliott is making being distant very difficult. Because as much as she doesn’t want to admit it, she  _ does  _ trust him, and Pathfinder. She just can’t get rid of the feeling that it isn’t smart to do so.

 

Lost, she turns to the Void.  _ Should I trust them?  _ she asks silently.

 

_Working with you now,_ it responds. _Could stay allies. Could not._ _Don’t let them harm us._

 

That was useless.

 

“I had an accident,” Wraith decides to say. “I don’t remember much—or anything, really. I was hoping that if I gained popularity in the Games, then it might catch the attention of somebody who knew me.”

 

There. None of that is technically a lie. Elliott has her thinking about the cameras live streaming; she’s not sure if she wants to broadcast her potential affiliation with the IMC yet.

 

“That is my hope as well, friend Wraith,” Pathfinder chimes in. It’s the first time he’s used the ‘friend’ moniker during the fight, something she can’t help but notice. “It would be mutually beneficial for us to work together towards that same goal. And, likely, fun.”

 

“I’m having a great time, personally,” Elliott says dryly. “Hanging out with some of my best bros. Basking in the limelight. It’s a real hoot.”

 

“Your ‘best bros’?” she says flatly. 

 

“When you’re the youngest, all of your siblings act like assholes,” he laughs. After a moment, he sighs. “They’re also your greatest friends. But since they’re not here…”

 

“We are not related to you by blood, Mirage,” Pathfinder points out. “That means we are not able to be your ‘bros’.”

 

“It’s just a thing people say, Pather,” Elliott says. She can picture his eye roll. “We’re, like, friends.”

 

“That is correct.”

 

They’re interrupted by a booming voice across the canyon. “ _ Attention: there is a new Kill Leader. _ ”

 

“That sounds bad,” Elliott observes.

 

“I wonder how many contestants are left?” Wraith asks, frowning. How many kills did this Kill Leader have to gain the title? Her count is at three, if she counted right. 

 

“People will probably be on edge after that announcement,” Elliott says. “And I say probably, because that’s the smart thing, but some of the people we’ve encountered have been idiots, so…”

 

“We should wait out the remaining time until the ring closes here,” Pathfinder says. “The next ring, as well, since it is within this area. If either of you need to rest, I will be able to keep watch. I do not need to sleep.”

 

“It might be a good idea to try and rest now,” Wraith responds, glancing at Elliott. “Some squads might plan to move out once night falls. We should be more alert then.”

 

“They could also be roaming to try and pick off any squads fighting, though,” Elliott argues. “So if they come through here, then we want to be on guard now too.”

 

“The most logical course of action is to remain perfectly aware of everything at all times,” Pathfinder interrupts. Elliott facepalms.

 

“Not how things work, bud,” he mutters. Pathfinder’s light blinks.

 

“For you humans, perhaps,” the robot says, sounding smug. Wraith lets the corners of her mouth turn into a smirk.

 

“We’ll just have to wait and see what happens,” she declares. “We have a good amount of supplies right now, I don’t think it’s worth risking ourselves to get anything else. Hope you’ve got a shred of patience somewhere in there, Mirage.”

 

“Pfft, me, impatient?” he grumbles, settling himself in a crouch. “No, never. Don’t even—why would you even ask. My middle name’s impatient. Or, shit, I mean patient. Because I’m so patient. It comes naturally to me. It’s like a state of being—”

 

“Mirage. Shut up.”

 

“Yeah okay.”

 

* * *

  
  


“You see anything over there? I’ve been eyeing this one rock for a while. Think it might be planning something to wreck us.”

 

“Rocks are not alive. They are incapable of deceit.”

 

“You sure? Cause I think there’s a face on this one, lookin’ at me.”

 

“That is not a face. It is a series of faults and cracks that your human brain is perceiving as a face.”

 

“I perceive your little chest screen as a face, too, you know. Is it not a real one ‘cause you’re not human?”

 

“...”

 

“So robots can have faces, but not rocks, is that it?”

 

“You bring up a logical point, Mirage. I will reconsider my stance.”

 

“Great! Now look at that rock, over there. No, to the left, behind that tree. Tell me that’s not a face.”

 

“That does, indeed, look like the face of a rock.”

 

“I will smash both of your faces into rocks if you don’t focus.”

 

“Ouch.”

 

* * *

  
  


“I’m really surprised no one’s popped their face in here yet. This thing is in, like, the literal middle of the map. Aren’t people curious? Where’s their sense of adventure?”

 

“If they follow their ‘sense of adventure’ to a dangerous spot, then it is probable that they will get shot and die. In this case, by us.”

 

“Yeah, but think of the  _ journey, _ though.”

 

“You consider walking five feet into a ravine and getting murdered a ‘journey’?”

 

“As a matter of fact, I do, Wraith. It’s really about the experience. These rock faces would be a lovely last sight, don’t you think?”

 

“Focus, Mirage.”

 

“I’ve been focusing, but fine. I’m going to develop telepathic communication with that rock face on the other side of the canyon, because I feel like they appreciate me a lot more than you do. Don’t you, Duke Stone?”

 

“Just do it quietly, please.”

 

“She doesn’t understand what we have.”

 

* * *

  
  


“God, I think I’m dying. I’m actually going to keel over from boredom. The papers are going to write about how the wonderful Elliott Witt actually joined the legendary Apex Games, but then he kicked the bucket because  _ nothing happened. _ ”

 

“Something will happen in approximately three hours, twenty nine minutes, and fourteen seconds.”

 

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

 

“The ring will be in its next stage.”

 

“Someone kill me.”

 

* * *

“ _ Attention: there is a new Kill Leader. _ ”

 

“I feel like everyone else out there is having a much more exciting experience than we are.”

 

“We aren’t here for the experience.”

 

“...I know.”

 

* * *

  
  


“Mirage, Wraith, you have been conscious for approximately fifteen hours. It is ideal for you to rest your bodies. The sun has also set, and the darkness should help you adjust to a sleeping pattern.”

 

“...”

 

“Mirage?”

 

“I think he’s already asleep.”

 

“Very well. You could also shut down for the night, Wraith. I will be awake.”

 

“I’m going to stay up. But… thanks, Pathfinder.”

 

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

The way Elliott had been sleeping seemed extremely uncomfortable. He should be looking at her gratefully for the wake up call, not with the scowl currently on his face. Wraith’s sure that her method of pouring water onto his face didn’t contribute to it at all.

 

“Come on,” she says, amused. Elliott keeps glaring at her from beneath a mop of wet hair.

 

“Why couldn’t you have done, you know, literally anything else?” he grumbles. She shrugs.

 

“You looked thirsty,” she deadpans. He lets out a deep sigh.

 

“The ring has entered its next phase,” Pathfinder says, as he returns from one of the ravine’s entrances. “That means we have four hours until the Game is over.”

 

“Which factors into our plans how, exactly?” Elliott asks, rubbing his face. She forces herself not to be amused at his wet dog look. There technically wasn’t any benefit in wasting her water to wake him up, after all. Her enjoyment doesn’t contribute to the squad’s chances of winning. As much as she was telling Elliott to focus, Wraith has to get herself to concentrate as well.

 

“It is likely that many of the contestants are dead by now,” Pathfinder explains. “We could go out searching for squads.”

 

She frowns, trying to think. “We could stay on the edges of the ring, wait for other squads to start fighting.”

 

“What, you want to wait here  _ more? _ ” Elliott says, aghast. He thumps his head against the rocks. “We’ve been here forever.”

 

“It’s been maybe twenty hours,” she replies dryly. “It’s a good spot for catching people off guard.”

 

He mutters something under his breath she doesn’t catch. She opens her mouth to say something, but—

 

_ You’ve been spotted. _

 

Before she has time to think, Wraith pulls herself into the Void.

 

Time seems to move slowly. She hears the sound of a gun firing, but the bullet doesn’t touch her. Energy dances along her fingertips, the whispers louder now that she’s using her powers. Taking a small step back, Wraith runs into one of the shadowy silhouettes already darting around her.

 

_ She’s standing, watching Elliott pout. Her mouth opens to make a sarcastic comment, startling a laugh out of him. Before she can react, there’s a loud bang and then nothing _ —

 

Wraith stumbles out of the Void, gasping. Her body is thrumming with power, sparks racing up and down her arms, and she bends over, panting. She wasn’t in the Void for very long. Instead of exhaustion, she feels  _ adrenaline _ . It’s like she’s ready to take on anything, and the voices in the back of her head are rising into a loud unison that for once isn’t giving her a headache. She wants…

 

She wants to fight.

 

“The fuck?!” Elliott shouts, and suddenly Wraith is crashing back down to reality.

 

“Shooter, north entrance!” she barks, ducking low to the ground. Prepping a frag grenade, she tosses it overhead without looking. After it explodes, she doesn’t hear anything.

 

“Do you see anything, Pathfinder?” Wraith demands. Her hands fly over her Hemlok, confirming that it’s loaded and ready.

 

“I do not,” he replies. There’s a pause, and then he continues. “False. There is something sticking out from the rocks. It looks like some sort of canister.”

 

“Are we glossing over the whole ‘just turned invisible and now I’m sparking like a fork in an outlet’?” Elliott yells, his voice shrill. She ignores him, crawling to the edge of the ledge to try and glimpse their attackers.

 

Wraith squints, trying to find the canister Pathfinder was talking about. She finally spots it, part of it visible from the rocks as he described. It looks like some type of tied, lumpy bag.

 

“There is movement at the northeast entrance,” Pathfinder says calmly. She turns to look, raising her gun—

 

“ _ I bathe in the bloth!” _

 

Wraith looks straight into the glowing red eyes of Bloodhound.

 

Some instinct takes over, and she squeezes her trigger, firing bursts of the Hemlok. Bloodhound is moving too quickly, however, as if graced with some supernatural speed. They dodge all her shots and take a running leap onto the ledge.

 

Elliott is screaming hysterically as the hunter flies towards him. As Pathfinder unloads his R-99 at Bloodhound, Wraith tackles Elliott out of the line of fire. Because now that the hunter has started coming after them, gunshots are flying at them from the northern entrance as well. Part of her mind listens to the gunshots in a detached way. There’s a steady stream from—an R-301 Carbine. It’s a solid weapon, more accurate than the Flatline but less damaging. The other gun firing is a high-pitched whine. The Havoc.

 

“What the shit what the shit what the shit,” Elliott whimpers, as she shoves him down against the rock face. She shoves a finger onto his mouth, looking around wildly for Pathfinder. She can’t see the robot. Or Bloodhound.

 

Her mind races. What is the best course of action? The factors of the battlefield flick through her mind; three on three. One of hers and one of them currently out of sight. Guns providing cover. An odd canister on the edge of the battlefield.

 

Right where the other squad would be.

 

The gunfire halts. There’s a small window as they reload. Wraith acts.

 

She slides to the edge, rapidly bringing her Hemlok up to aim at the narrow entrance. Her gaze narrows in on the same canister from before; she can just barely make out two large figures behind the rocks. The larger one’s holding a shield. His name is—

 

Wraith shoots the canister. It explodes in a sickly green fog.

 

Feeling like her body is acting independently from her mind, she darts to the left, scanning the area for her ally.

 

There. Hostile one is bearing down on her ally’s cover. The enemy has a Peacekeeper in their hands, shell loaded. They move forward.

 

Wraith jumps. Her victim whips around to look at her, but she’s already on them.

 

Her fist flies into a mask. Red, red eyes stare up at her. They grapple. She’s not strong enough. A shotgun finds its way to her stomach, and it fires.

 

Pain explodes throughout her body. Wraith howls.

 

She rips reality apart, diving into the Void. It wraps around her, the energy almost comforting. In seconds, she’s slipped out from where the target has her pinned, until she’s behind them. Then, she forces herself back out.

 

A pistol slips into her hand. Its weight is familiar. She brings it up.

 

Red eyes turn around, burning into her. She squeezes the trigger, again and again and again until the light in those eyes dies out and the body slumps to the ground.

 

_ You’re still in danger.  _ **_Move!_ **

 

Her body rolls to the right. Everything hurts. She moves past it. A hand reaches out to touch her, its fingers smooth and metallic, but she flinches away from it, snarling. Hands belong to people. People are  _ threats. _ Her job is to eliminate threats.

 

Movement out of the corner of her eye. A figure, walking out of the toxic smoke. There’s a gas mask on the lower half of its face. She narrows her eyes. It’s a target. On the ledge, something moves.

 

The Hemlok comes back out. She aims for the glass protecting her victim’s eyes. It jerks back, taking cover behind a rock. There’s a brief moment where nothing happens, and then a glowing dome pops into existence around it.

 

She pants. Her hand covers her stomach and comes away sticky with blood. She leans behind a rock and watches the dome warily.

 

Inside, the ground explodes.

 

Two figures stumble out of the dome. As if in a daze, her Hemlok raises. The taller one looks up, catches her eyes. Its face is dirty. 

 

He gives her a warm grin. She freezes.

 

From behind her, the sound of a submachine gun rings out, and he falls down. The man he was supporting staggers with him. Someone jumps down from the ledge and fires a Peacekeeper into both of them, breathing heavily.

 

“ _ Apex Champions have been decided. _ ”

 

Her vision swims. She feels—unsteady. Unbalanced. What… where was she? What just happened?

 

A hand, the same one from before, lands on her shoulder. She tries to shove it away, but her body feels numb. It doesn’t move when she tells it to. A blinking light flashes in her vision before everything turns black.

 

* * *

  
  


“—so fired.”

 

Everything aches. Wraith doesn’t want to open her eyes.

 

So she doesn’t.

 

* * *

  
  


“...gonna wake up soon?”

 

“...resting… traumatic experience…”

 

“...be okay, though?”

 

“...”

 

* * *

 

Images swim past her mind.

 

A corpse, back against the wall, head blown to pieces. The IMC logo stark against his chest.

 

The haze of red dripping out until there’s a pair of empty eyes staring back at her.

 

Someone looking at her with a warm smile as he falls to his knees and dies.

 

White walls. White on white on white—

 

She sleeps.

 

* * *

 

_ Wake. _

 

Her eyes shoot open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO YEAH Ummmmm this chap. took a while
> 
> school + depression = kicked my ass, also unironically started playing wizard 101. its a good fucking game, fight me
> 
> i rly wanted to get this chap done earlier, but as time passed i was like "oh i'll make it longer to make up for the wait," but then time kept happening so my mind said "well i'll make it longer then." etc etc until now. these past two? three? days i finally like cranked out actual progress for this thing. go me
> 
> im hoping that there wont be these long gaps between updates? idk. it depends. can try to go for longer chaps>longer pauses or shorter chaps>shorter pauses. lemme know what you guys think. and also what you think of the chapter ive been looking at it for way too long, i did like barest proofreading of this chap making sure the right things italicized adding line breaks etc but imma post it and yeet since its kinda late rn
> 
> ilu all im going to try and actually respond to every comment now bcuz anyone still reading this is amazing ok bye


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